Stand Tall
by shini-amaryllis
Summary: LB AU of Book 7: Hope wasn't going to wait around for Tom to strike, no, better to be paranoid and preparing for all out war than safe in bed. Those Horcruxes weren't going to find themselves and that war wasn't going to win itself. No more handouts, no more shields, no more lies. They were on their own and willing to fight to the end. The Resistance stood tall.
1. A Choice Made

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling**

 **Stand Tall: Chapter One: A Choice Made**

 **AN: So, this is a Looking Beyond AU where the Resistance and the War are expanded on, lasting more than a few months. Some people didn't like the Greek Myths Arc of book 8 in LB, so haha this is a bit of a twist on it, so Celtic and Greco-Roman mythologies are very much present, some in ways you didn't expect.**

 **For the lovely Cora who was very excited about this.**

* * *

" _SIRIUS!"_

Sirius was falling back, back into the Veil, the last thing he was going to see was his goddaughter's _terrified_ face, racing forward and reaching out for him. But she'd never reach him in time.

And yet…the Fates were on _his_ side.

He could almost feel it warp against his back, and the next thing he knew, he was in a place of total blackness, except for one lone figure wrapped in raven feathers.

"Sirius Orion Black," a voice breathed in the silence, echoing oddly in the quiet, "Death has other plans for you."

Sirius reeled back with a startled " _What?"_ before twisting to look back to where Hope was rushing forward. _"No_ , I've got to—" But the owner of the voice snapped their fingers, dropping him through a hole that he couldn't even see before turning their attention to the child beyond the Veil, intrigued as she reached out enough for the tips of two fingers to breach the barrier that separated the physical realm from the godly.

Their eyebrows rose high when that faintest touch didn't kill her immediately.

But then the girl screamed and _shook the room._

" _Ah_ ," they breathed, glee racing through them, "there you are."

And for a moment her eyes met their impossibly dark ones and they smiled. _Soon,_ they promised _, soon, my darling._

* * *

She'd gotten so _close_ , after fifteen years of struggling, of her body being used like a cheap marionette, changed to suit her captor's needs as they arose. It was the most painful thing she'd ever experienced, being cut off from everything she knew and loved…that when the opportunity came, she _had_ to take it.

He didn't notice until it was too late and they'd fallen through the water into an entirely different world.

And she shut her eyes to the endless shadows and the ravens cawing in the distance, praying for a merciful death.

* * *

The white tomb was clear as day, though not possible to be seen from deep within the Chamber of Secrets, but still Hope's thoughts lingered on it with a bit of morbid interest. Dumbledore's funeral had only been earlier that day, as had the three of them telling Professor McGonagall that they wouldn't be returning in the fall.

Hope rubbed over her arms, feeling uncommonly cold, despite the heat.

"So, what's the plan?" Ron's voice brought her back and she looked up. "You've got the 'I've got a plan' look."

Hope's mouth twitched, her eyes flicking between him and Hermione. She sat there for a moment, considering everything. She had a small pocket journal in her hands, spattered with various ink splotches alongside heated notes about Horcruxes.

"Dumbledore's dead," she said finally, "he's the last person that Tom was really afraid of…so any reason for him to wait it out died with Dumbledore…Fred and George are saying the Order thinks he won't attack until the Trace fades when I'm seventeen, but if I know Tom…he won't want to wait that long."

Hermione stiffened and Ron scowled.

"You think he'll be waiting for you when you get back to the Dursleys?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe, maybe not, but personally I'm not really planning to find out." Hope shrugged. "And I'm through with listening to what the Order says, nothing they've said, nothing they've _done_ has made me feel any safer or any more like they _weren't_ trying to keep information from us…"

Hope remembered months ago when she'd snapped before Bellatrix had tried to grab her. _"Let me know if you need me to vanquish any Dark Lords, since that's apparently all I'm good for!"_ It honestly still felt like that. "At this rate we'd probably be better off making our own resistance."

"That's not a half-bad idea," Ron said after a moment.

" _What?_ Of course, it's a bad idea!" Hope countered. "Leading a resistance? Are you _mad?"_

"You're the one that suggested it!" he countered. "Besides, you've been leading the DA for two years, how is this any different?"

Hope raked a hand through her hair. " _Because!_ Because this is _different!_ This is _war!"_

"That's what you've been telling us the whole time!" Ron insisted and Hermione nodded in agreement. "That it's different out there! That it's different when people are trying to kill you! We fought in the Department of Mysteries and we fought here! We know what we're doing and we're not afraid to fight for it!"

Hope found herself staring a bit bemusedly at both him and Hermione. There had been no question of taking them with her to find the Horcruxes…but _this?_ Hope didn't know. She pressed a hand against her brow, rubbing over her scar. "I'm not saying that it wouldn't be a good idea…but where would we even start?"

"Could start by informing the masses," a voice piped up and Hope twisted wildly to see almost every DA member making their way down the stairs that led into the antechamber. Ginny, Luna, and Neville to Susan, Hannah, and Daphne and fully at the back " _Fred!_ What're you doing here?"

"George wanted to come, but someone's got to man the shop," Fred shrugged, holding up his galleon and Hope shot a look to Hermione who grinned back shamelessly. He squeezed her shoulders comfortingly before finding a seat. "Are we rebelling again? _Brilliant!"_

"It's under debate," she said dryly as everyone got situated, "but this isn't a dictatorship…I'm taking everyone's decisions into account…Hermione and Ron feel it would be a good idea to form a resistance of sorts, like the Order of the Phoenix but more effective."

Fred and Angelina, two who were a part of the Order as well, snorted.

"Hell yeah!" Tracey grinned. "Count me in!"

"Anything to bring the Death Eaters down!" Colin agreed.

And Hope was more stunned that no one seemed against it. "This is dangerous," she half-heartedly tried to discourage them.

"Hope, people have been trying to kill you since you were one and you've never backed down," Ginny pointed out, "why should we?"

"Hear, hear!" Seamus squeezed her hip from where she was sitting on his lap, and the echoing agreement made warmth bloom in Hope's chest as she looked around at them all…all of them willing to follow her into a war that no one could really see the end to.

Now they were really going to need a plan. A plan and codes and contingencies. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

 _Where are you?_ Hope typed out on her coin and it only took a few seconds to get a response.

 _Astronomy Tower. Want some company?_

The sun was only just starting to set, but of course he was still out. Hope shook her head fondly, excusing herself from debates with Hermione and Ron, citing the need for air.

"Don't you get tired of sketching?" she asked when she came out onto the Astronomy Tower and Dean lifted his head from where it was bent over his sketchbook to spare her a grin.

"What's there to get tired of?" he replied as she came over to plop herself on the edge of the tower, her legs dangling in the free air beside him.

Dean was always so much easier to talk to, more so than even Hermione or Ron or George. Dean… _Dean_ was someone who understood her the best, the one she'd dragged with her into a Muggle tattoo parlour despite his reluctance.

The one who shared her nightmares.

Hope stared out over to the Black Lake and sighed heavily.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked and Hope flicked her eyes over to see what he was sketching. A flock of ravens in sharp relief. "Does it have something to do with…what we planned in the Chamber?"

Hope sighed again. "It's just _exhausting."_

"What? Being the one to shoulder everyone's burdens?" She gave him a look and he returned one easily. "You can't say I'm not wrong. You've been fighting this battle as long as you've been alive. You've _literally_ complained to me about adults not treating you like you've got that level of experience and shutting you out based on your age."

Hope huffed and her arm started to twinge. She could feel the numbness spreading again and she worried.

"Dean…I'm not doing well," she admitted quietly.

Dean's pencil stilled on the paper and he tucked it away, setting it aside to take her hands in his. There were days that Hope wondered if it would've been better for her if she'd just found a way to hide out at Dean's mother's place and just take the name Thomas and give up being a Potter entirely. But Dumbledore would've never allowed that, she thought bitterly, he would've Obliviated Dean's sweet Muggle mother at the first opportunity and returned her to the Dursleys.

"Is this about why you've been downing Pepper Up Potions by the gallon?" he asked and Hope started in surprise. "Come on, Hope, you're not that subtle."

Hope scowled and looked away.

"You've been sick for a while," Dean continued, "something you don't want to tell Ron and Hermione about…or George."

"I think George might have some idea," Hope muttered. He'd watched her run to the bathroom to vomit far too many times to believe that it was just some random stomach bug. "I don't want everyone to fuss about me."

Dean arched an eyebrow and her mouth twisted unwillingly. "You've _never_ wanted anyone to fuss over you…that's like _ninety percent_ of your personality."

It became a full-on smile that faded slightly. "I think I'm gonna die, Dean."

"In the war?" Dean asked, brow furrowed. "Because we all think that we're gonna—"

"No," Hope said sharply and he paused, "I think I'm gonna die in the next _few weeks_ …I can't explain it." It was like trying to explain the Blood-Soaked Tree to someone outside the pair; impossible. She'd look in the mirror and just ache to scream, like she was her own personal banshee. "It's like this feeling in my gut that won't go away."

Dean was used to her gut feelings. She'd had them about Cedric before the Third Task and hadn't thought about saying anything other than 'be careful out there' and she'd come back with his corpse.

"Is that why you're so reluctant to be in charge of the Resistance?" he asked after letting out a loud breath. "Because you don't think you'll be around?"

"Partially." Hope sighed again. "It's just that it _always_ falls to me. Just o _nce_ I'd like to be the one that runs off to foreign soil and say ' _fuck it, this is on you, you fucked up the country, not me, so it's up to you to deal with the consequences'_."

"That's fair," Dean admitted. "But would you really be satisfied with someone else failing to do the job you would've done twice as well?"

Hope's mouth curved upwards and then she leaned forward to hug him tightly. "Thanks, Dean."

"Just being honest, that's all," Dean shrugged and she released him to rub at her leg where the scars were from her car accident when she was ten. "Phantom pains?"

"Among other things," Hope grumbled, rolling up her pantleg. The scar wasn't that big but it was red and puffy. The way her scars gaped had looked a bit concerning to him, like someone had carved bits of her flesh away, but Muggles weren't exactly primitive when it came to medical advancements; Dean knew they knew how to suture wounds shut. "Did I ever tell you about that accident when I was ten?"

She could nearly feel how he froze up beside her. "I didn't think you told anyone about that."

"I didn't." Dean didn't know if it was the moonlight or her _metamorphmagi-ness_ , but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were impossibly black and her hair was nearly white. "Do you want to hear it?"

"If you want to tell it," Dean returned easily and Hope smiled faintly. "I just figured…I mean, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Hope's mouth twitched a bit more. That was what she loved about Dean. Everything about him was absolutely genuine, he put his whole heart into everything he did, and he didn't have expectations on secret sharing. Ron and Hermione -love them to death- liked to probe and prod, and George could only be patient to a point, but Dean was patience _personified._

"I was in the hospital for a while," Hope admitted, "there were some complications and, well—" She gave a mild gesture to her exposed leg.

"My muscle was shredded, which was a bigger problem for the doctors, I think…multiple surgeries and I still needed that brace for two years." Hope sighed loudly. "I wasn't in a really _great_ place…Dudley was the one that pushed me, they were gonna blame me for the bills, no one liked me, and I was in pain, a _lot_ of pain."

Dean couldn't imagine.

"But one person came to see me," Hope's eyes gleamed as she smiled. (Remus had seen her but never entered the room, so she didn't think that he counted) "His name was Nathaniel, he was one of the EMTs that brought me in, and he spent hours with me every day…telling me stories, keeping me distracted…and he would tell me this story about a woman named Magic Spinner."

"Magic Spinner?"

"She was my favorite story," Hope said, almost giddily. It had been thrilling, even at ten, to have someone tell her stories, and, indeed, to _want_ to tell her stories. "She was this witch, back ages ago, very powerful and very dangerous…you know, the kind of person that people made into evil witches in stories because they were afraid."

Dean arched an eyebrow.

"Her name was Adelaide and eventually she attracted the attention of a god, Death, actually. He was enthralled by her, a mortal that could affect life and death…so he revealed himself to her. And she didn't give a damn if he was a god, she was more interested in magic, about what made it work and what he could do with what appeared to be magic but wasn't…after a while they fell in love, never married, but had three children together." Hope's mouth twisted. "It was a tragedy of course; all good stories are."

"Are they?" Dean asked, a bit perturbed.

"You need a good tragedy to remind you why things matter. Death reminds you that you're just footprints in the sand and the waves are rolling in…but if you've done something, if you've meant something to someone, if you've left a legacy behind… _that matters."_

That was philosophical of her, but Dean had to wonder if she was thinking about her parents or Sirius Black or anyone else she'd lost along the way.

"Nathaniel likes to say that," Hope admitted. "I can't really disagree with him."

Dean gave her a smile. "Does he check up on you?"

"When he can," Hope shrugged, pulling out a clunky flip-phone from her pocket. "He gave me this, so I can call him if I need to…he's great, the kind of person you'd prefer to've been raised by, if you'd been given the option."

It was easy to pick out the bitterness. Dean reached over and squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back, _hard_ , like he was her lifeline.

"Sorry," Hope laughed weakly, "I'm kinda unloading on you."

"It's okay," Dean assured her, "I'm not seeing Daphne until tomorrow morning, I've got the time."

Hope laughed. "Would you mind doing me a favor?"

"Anything," Dean said without any reservation and Hope's smile was blinding.

* * *

Professor McGonagall didn't have to try too hard to find Hope, ironically. In fact, she didn't honestly anticipate finding her when she'd taken the steps up to what had once been Albus Dumbledore's office, and it still technically was, but all his elaborate tables had been pushed aside to make room for a motorbike.

Sirius' motorbike.

And there was a girl with her hair twisted into a knot on the top of her head, crouching beside it with tools in hand, grease smeared on her pants and sleeveless shirt.

" _Motorbikes can be dangerous_ ," came a grainy voice from what looked like a communicator of some kind, propped on a few books. It was definitely some kind of Muggle electronic…though she had to wonder how it worked around all the magic without going haywire…

"Nathaniel, not for nothing," Hope grated, "but you give me the statistics for every way people can die and then I go and do exactly that to prove you wrong."

There was laughter on the other end. " _You're a statistical outlier and I never count you."_

"Ouch, that hurts," Professor McGonagall could hear her smile, "are you working or off right now?"

" _Off, currently_ ," Nathaniel replied, _"but there must be some poor unfortunate soul that needs to be taken to a hospital or a morgue."_

"One can always hope." Hope pulled out her wrench and began fiddling.

" _What's on your mind, dearest?" The_ voice on the other end was impossibly warm and paternal and certainly not a tone that Professor McGonagall had heard outside of Sirius or Remus, and this man was certainly neither.

"Lot of death happening right now," Hope muttered.

" _There's a lot of death happening all the time, that is the nature of death."_

"Funny." Hope rolled her eyes. "I'm just…people have high expectations for me, I'm supposed to be the one to fix everything, even when I wasn't the one to start everything…and if I fail, then that's on me and 'oh well, guess we better give in to a dictatorship'…I'm just really, really _tired."_

" _I know,"_ Nathaniel's voice was sympathetic and Professor McGonagall couldn't help but ache. How many times had Albus said 'Trust Hope' and 'Hope is the key to everything'? And how many times had she said 'no, I'm not your hero'?

"Do you remember back when I was thirteen…do you remember what you told me?"

" _Of course, I do_ ," he said easily.

"Were you serious?" Hope asked carefully.

There was a small stint of silence. _"I was_ ," he said finally, " _if I'd had the opportunity to raise you, I would've taken it, if I'd been allowed."_

"Dumbledore," Hope hissed under her breath.

" _Mostly,"_ Nathaniel agreed, " _but there are still things you need to know, things I need to explain."_

Hope stood up to grab the communicator, pressing a button and held it to her ear, turning slightly to scowl at Professor McGonagall, telling the woman that Hope had known she was listening the whole time. "What do you mean?...No, I can definitely meet you…same place in one hour? Kay, bye."

She flipped it shut and tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans. "Can I help you, Professor? Or did you learn all you needed to from eavesdropping on me?"

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Miss Potter—"

Hope ignored her, packing all the tools into the toolbox and Professor McGonagall watched it shrink before her eyes, as did the motorcycle, joining the toolbox in her pocket.

"In light of what has happened," Professor McGonagall continued, "if you should have the need to talk to someone—"

"No," Hope said sharply, cutting her off, "thanks but, I'm _fine_. I'm been fine with murder since I was eleven and that's not likely to change, especially with authority figures being the ones to put me in those situations to begin with."

Professor McGonagall flinched. "Now, you know that's not—"

" _Fair?"_ Hope arched an eyebrow. "That's your game, Professor, not mine. I have no problem playing with weighted dice if it wins me the game. That was always Dumbledore's problem…so what if you destroy a kid's childhood and raise her to be a martyr for your pure Light cause, as long as she doesn't stray into the Dark then when she wins you'll be vindicated, right?" Hope shook her head with a scoff, pulling her arms through a plaid shirt and doing up a few of the buttons.

Something had changed in her the past year, Professor McGonagall had seen it _oh so clearly_ , none more so than now. There was something sharper and colder behind her eyes now. The green had faded from her eyes, replaced with a black so deep and _dark_ that Professor McGonagall thought she was being looked through right to her soul. She carried herself differently now. She'd always seemed burdened, ever since the end of her fourth year, but now she stood tall, everything rolling off her, like she didn't have anything to lose.

She had the face of a warrior on a suicide mission, one who didn't care how much she broke as long as it helped someone else finish what she started.

Professor McGonagall heaved a heavy sigh, switching topics. "I feel I should tell you that I don't feel it wise to leave the grounds—"

"Tell me all you want," Hope shrugged unconcerned, turning her back on her. "It's a free country, the last time I checked."

And then she was gone and Professor McGonagall sighed heavily once more, eyes flicking towards the portrait of Salazar Slytherin, who Hope had once claimed relation to, but the man appeared to be either actually asleep, or feigning it.

* * *

There was a loud knock on the door and George startled in surprise. Very few people ever came to his door when he didn't know about them to start with, and he certainly wasn't expecting any company.

So, he couldn't help but be surprised when he opened the door to see Dean Thomas standing there.

"Dean." His eyebrows rose high. "What're you doing here?"

"Hope asked me to do her a favor," Dean shrugged helplessly.

George couldn't bring himself to be surprised by that. If she didn't go to Ron or Hermione when she needed help, she went to Dean. Those two were ridiculously in sync. But George had also been dating Hope long enough to regard most things that involved her with suspicion. "What kind of favor?"

"She just wanted me to pick up anything that she left here, that's all." Dean gave another small shrug.

"So, she sent you?" George couldn't help but be amused by how awkward Dean looked. But Dean always seemed to feel awkward around George, like he thought George would ever think he was stealing his girl by hanging out with her (which was hysterical on both sides, since Dean had once full-on fainted at the sight of Daphne snarling out insults, and Hope had a tendency to trip over herself every time George sucked hard on Hope's throat).

"Uh, yeah…hi," Dean offered helpfully and George snorted, ushering him inside just to keep him out of the hallway. "She thought people would be keeping too close an eye on her." In reality, Dean knew that Hope had snuck out of Hogwarts earlier, but he knew that she wouldn't be coming near George because, in Hope's words, ' _His mum's probably already blabbed and they're staking the place out'_. The idea that Hope and George had been living together for a while didn't come as a real surprise to Dean; she'd said so many times how she'd kill to get away from the Dursleys.

George cast an annoyed glance towards the window, shutting the door behind Dean. "Well, you're not wrong…why don't you sit down while I collect all her stuff?"

Dean took a few steps and sank into the nearest couch, looking around with interest. It was so obvious that George didn't live there alone. There were books on ancient runes and ancient magic that Dean knew wasn't George's interest. A small denim jacket was slung on a hook by the door. There was a picture of Hope grinning wildly with George's arms around her as he kissed her cheek, over and over again.

Dean didn't say anything as George moved around, humming softly to himself, tucking all of his girlfriend's things into a bag that never seemed to bulge no matter how much he stuffed into it. Hope, it seemed, had left a lot of things at the flat…like she'd been planning on coming back.

It was funny how Voldemort always seemed to put a kink in her plans.

"Can ask you something?" Dean asked suddenly and George looked up in surprise.

"Sure, kid," he said like Dean and Hope weren't the same age.

"Why was it just Fred that came to the meeting?" Dean couldn't help but ask. "She would've liked to see you…she misses you."

George's smile was so pained as he sat down heavily. "I miss her too…but if Fred knows what's going on and can tell me what I need to know, then that's fine by me…do you know what Legilimency is?"

Dean frowned. "I think I heard her complaining about it once."

George snorted, running a hand through his hair, making the light fleck gold across his eyes, and Dean had a sudden ache to sketch it in his sketchbook. "Its this branch of magic to invade someone's mind and see inside their thoughts. A lot of people in Dumbledore's Order—Hope told you guys about them right?"

"Um, a little," Dean admitted, "she said we're more effective than them."

George smirked. "She's not wrong. Basically, in the first war Dumbledore created this group called the Order of the Phoenix to fight against…Tom." George wrinkled his nose slightly, giving Dean a look. "Since his other name's made up, might as well use his birth one, I guess, but a lot of the people in the original Order of the Phoenix were killed…" He stood up to find a thick book on a shelf, pulling it out and sitting down next to Dean to flip through the pages of pictures, so many of Hope, Ron, and Hermione, and various Weasleys, and Hope and George, as well as a few with Hope and Remus Lupin or Sirius Black, until— "Here it is…the original Order of the Phoenix."

Dean looked with interest.

"Obviously, that's Mad-Eye Moody with Dumbledore," George didn't really need to explain, "but you probably don't know the others that well…Dedalus Diggle, he's still alive, _very excitable…_ Marlene McKinnon, apparently, she and her whole family were killed after this was taken—" Dean's eyes widened in not quite surprise. "Then there's Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville's parents." Dean could see Neville in the kind-faced pair.

"Did they die too?"

George shook his head heavily. "No, they were tortured until their minds broke…they're long term St. Mungo's patients. Alice was Hope's godmother and she still visits her sometimes…but it hurts to pretend to be Lily for her. Its nothing compared to Neville, of course, but…we'd all like a little less misery in our lives, you know?"

Dean nodded his head in understanding.

"…there's Emmeline Vance, she's still here, too, and Remus Lupin, blimey he looks young." Dean couldn't help but laugh. "I don't know the next guy, but I'm pretty sure the Death Eaters got him too…and that guy's Susan's dad, and you know they got her whole family, too." Dean remembered how pale she'd been coming to school that term after her aunt had been killed, her last living relative.

This whole war was making them all into orphans.

"Sturgis Podmore, he just got released from Azkaban, I think, he had the Imperius Curse on him for a while…the guy next to him I've never met so he's probably dead too, Hagrid's still around, obviously, Elphias Doge, I think he's a friend of Dumbledore's, and, um—" George swallowed thickly and Dean looked up. "Gideon and Fabian Prewett, they were my uncles."

"I'm sorry," Dean breathed, suddenly remembering Hope hollering ' _George Fabian Weasley!'_. "You were named after them?"

"Yeah," George sighed heavily, shaking it off. "Anyways, the lady next to them apparently Tom had to kill personally…and then there's Sirius Black and Hope's parents."

Dean didn't think he'd ever seen a picture of James and Lily Potter before, just people always remarking on how much Hope looked like Lily. Hope _did_ look a great deal like her mother, long rich red hair, her fair complexion and green eyes, but he was surprised to see that James actually had a bit of color to his skin. Not much, but the olive tone was there.

Hope might not've inherited her father's coloring, but that was _definitely_ his smile.

"Where was I?" George had gotten _really_ off his topic. "Oh yeah, a lot of the Order know how to read minds and they're going to assume I know things when I don't, so its just better for everyone if I know as little as possible."

Dean narrowed his eyes suddenly. "Was that Ron's idea?"

George laughed. "Little brother's the man with the plan. He's the strategist in the family and I trust his judgement."

"Didn't your mother sell you and Hope out to the Order?" Dean pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

"Like I said," George said with sharp eyes, _"I trust his judgement."_

He shut the book of pictures and shoved it into the bag, holding it out to Dean. "Give her my love, yeah?"

"Sure," Dean took the bag from George, feeling a bit off kilter. "Um, I was just…I…" His words failed him and he fell silent, frustrated.

George, ever the big brother, seemed to pick up on his level of stress, and he wound his arms around Dean, letting Dean do the same. "You're doing very well," George assured, "its okay to struggle, we've all felt like that…Hope probably feels like that all the time."

Talking to George felt like talking to his mum, full of warmth and understanding. Sometimes it was hard to equate George Weasley with that feeling when some of his pranks had been so vindictive during school…but George had always been the softer of the twins, always looking to see what Hope thought of what they were doing.

Dean parted from him, wiping his face quickly. "Thanks, George."

George smiled. "See you around, Dean. Stay safe."

And Dean would certainly try his best, but with war on the horizon, he couldn't help but feel unease.

But the future wasn't set in stone and there was no way the Resistance would be doing anything less than standing tall amidst the carnage and chaos that would be arriving soon.

* * *

 **AN: The Resistance is going to be very central to the plot, the Horcruxes are important, but there's a lot of stuff going on that's important. Honestly, you guys are probably going to see a lot of Hope using Muggle means in this war…partially because I like the irony of Hope killing some DEs with Muggle weapons and also for another reason that will come up later.**

 **As always: Please review!**


	2. Neitherlands

**Stand Tall: Chapter Two: Neitherlands**

 **AN: okay, if you're reading this and haven't seen the new chapter one, you're gonna have to go back and read it, because this will make even less sense now.**

 **ST is becoming more of a cross between various mythologies/HP/the Magicians, what parts of it I actually like, and holy fuck is Hope's backstory way more interesting than it was when I first started.**

* * *

Ginny hadn't been expecting a personal summons by their esteemed leader when she seemed to be working so hard to finalize plans with Hermione and Ron before everyone left after the end of term.

"You wanted to talk?" Ginny asked curiously, coming down the stairs into the antechamber area behind the Chamber of Secrets to see Hope with an assortment of parchments spread across the table. She had a look about her, like she was about to run off, jacket over her shoulders, keys hooked into her jeans. "Does it have to do with the Resistance?"

"Yes." Hope held out a thin journal to Ginny and Ginny had a moment of panic, recalling the last time that someone had left her with a journal, but this one was different from Tom's; it was green and patterned with irises. "Don't open that just yet."

Ginny blinked, looking down at the notation Hope made on a piece of parchment before setting down the quill and twisting to lean against the table and look Ginny in the eye. "You're getting your codename early."

"What?" Ginny was surprised. Hope had only just told them they'd all be getting codenames the day before as a way to protect their identities because it was likely they were going to be in a lot of unsafe situations in the Resistance (oh, if Mum could _see her now_ ), but they would come through the galleons to keep from being found out by the enemy. "Why?" It didn't sound like it was a good thing that she alone was getting her name early.

"Your codename will be Ostara, and I'm telling you this because in the event of Iris' - _my-_ death, you will succeed me as head of the Resistance."

Ginny felt like a piece of lead had fallen into her stomach. "You want me to _what?"_

"Succeed me." Hope hadn't even blinked; how could she be fine with that? "Death and war go hand-in-hand, I'm being rational. I have the biggest target on my back and I know Hermione and Ron will do fine as my left and right hands, and yours, if it comes to that." Her jaw tightened slightly. "The Resistance will be useless if it falls apart with my death; you haven't heard of the Order doing much since Dumbledore kicked the bucket, have you?"

"No," Ginny admitted, but it hadn't actually been that long since it had happened. Though, at the moment, the Resistance dwarfed the Order in numbers alone (and if Fleur had been sent a galleon, it was likely Bill would be playing for both). "I understand, but I think you're being a bit _morbid."_

"Maybe," Hope shrugged, picking up a glass from the table and taking a drink; it looked a little too light in color to be Firewhisky. "But it's not irrational to be prepared; Ron's always getting on me to make contingencies for contingencies."

That sounded like him.

"The journal will turn red when my heart stops beating," Hope continued, "Hermione did that enchantment, not that she approved in the _slightest."_ She rolled her eyes with an amused grin for good measure. "You can open it now."

Ginny undid the binding around it and complied. The first page was signed by Hope herself, stating that Ginny was to be in charge of the Resistance in the event that she was unable to do so…but the other pages... "These are plans for the Resistance," she realized, incredibly in awe. "They're so detailed! You did this in one day?"

"Ron, Hermione, and I didn't get any sleep last night," Hope yawned widely for emphasis. "Read through it, but this is for your eyes only, especially the last section."

Ginny flipped through the pages until— " _Horcruxes?"_ she asked, carefully sounding out the unfamiliar word.

"That's it," Hope agreed. "Don't talk to anyone but Ron, Hermione, or me about that, understand? Those are going to lead to Tom's downfall."

Her eyes were dark and serious and Ginny had no reason to doubt her. "I promise," she swore.

"Good." Hope relaxed slightly. "I'm meeting a friend, tell them I'll be back soon."

Ginny wasn't really sure that was safe, but she also wasn't sure that there'd been anyone to tell Hope no before. So, she just watched her disappear up the stairs, settling down to studiously read every page that Hope, Hermione, and Ron had painstakingly crafted.

* * *

Hope ended up Flashing somewhere close to Wales, going off her map before she took out the motorbike and enlarged it once more. She knew she'd have to Flash a few more times to get to London, but she had the time, and Nathaniel had picked up a three hour shift, so it wasn't like she was making him wait.

She revved the motorcycle, sliding a helmet onto her head and affixing a pair of reflective aviator sunglasses over her eyes even when she probably didn't need them and heading off with her engine purring underneath her. Sure, it might've been more fun to see things from a bird's eye view, but sometimes Hope just wanted to take the slow road and enjoy the scenery as it waved her by.

Hope smiled to herself as she rode on, unencumbered by the open road. It was nice…Hope could almost forget that they were preparing for a war.

She wished they weren't, but it wasn't like Hope could get away with wishing everything away…it wasn't like it had worked before, so why start now?

A heavy breath left her forcefully and she coughed a few times to lodge it loose again. There was something strange about feeling like you were about to die…something almost freeing. Even if there were so many things that Hope wanted to do and see…it _did_ feel like a weight had been lifted.

" _But would you really be satisfied with someone else failing to do the job you would've done twice as well?"_

Dean's words echoed in her ears and it wasn't like he wasn't wrong.

But Hope didn't have the time to dwell on the that because her motorbike gave a sudden jolt, coughing up exhaust as it puttered to a stop.

"Fuck," Hope complained emphatically, pulling onto the side of a bridge to hop off and examine her godfather's once beloved bike. Now, Sirius had taught her how to fix the motorbike, that was how she knew how to tinker with it without causing any minor explosions, but she couldn't see anything wrong.

Nothing was misplaced and there was a full tank of gas…maybe it just needed to cool down before Hope used it again?

She couldn't help but grumble under her breath when something light fluttered against her boot. Frowning, she reached down to grab whatever it was and raise it to eye level.

It was a tarot card. The Fool.

There were parts of Divination that had always been of interest to Hope, and tarot card reading and divining through rune stones were some of them. And somewhere someone's deck was a Fool short.

Hope kept her eyes to the ground, seeing another card not too far away. The Tower. Before Hope knew it, she was moving, picking up the second card before curving down under the bridge, grabbing 4 more cards before wading through the stream beneath it to grab another with hardly any reservation about the fact that she was getting further and further from the road and her motorbike.

But Hope had always been the more adventurous sort. She'd grown up reading _The Hobbit_ and the _Lord of the Rings_ , always looking for her own sort of adventure, though hers had ended up being quite something else.

And there were more cards littering the ground to collect, so Hope continued on as though following Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs. Someone must've dumped an entire tarot deck in the woods, which Hope couldn't understand, because the art on the cards was really breathtaking.

She'd collected seventy-seven cards when she came to the very last one: Death.

It was sitting against a rather peculiar tree with a thick trunk that seemed to part into a gateway of some sort.

Hope bent to grab the last card, considering the trunk with a sort of suspicion could only come from a life of being attacked. But…surely there wouldn't be any harm in going inside?

( _Famous last words_ , Hope thought to herself, _but what the hell_.)

She crouched inside and was immediately over swept by water rushing in at every direction, buoying her upwards as she struggled to catch her breath until she thought she'd drown, breaking through the surface and clinging desperately to the nearest edge, coughing and sputtering.

"What in the _name_ of the _stars_ are you doing in the fountain?" A voice demanded and Hope opened her eyes to see the one that had spoken.

They were hard to describe. They appeared to be ageless and androgynous with long dark hair, partially plaited into braids with a crown of thorns around their brow and an assortment of tattoos and scars.

Hope blinked suddenly realizing she was indeed in a fountain, one that didn't seem to be very big, nowhere near the size for Hope to drown in. "I have _no idea_ how I ended up in here," Hope informed them flatly.

They gave her an almost unimpressed look. " _Really?"_

Hope wheezed as she pulled herself out of the fountain to tumble down onto the ground with a muffled groan. "I was in Wales two seconds ago, and I went through a gap in a tree and almost drowned, and now I'm in a _fucking fountain_ , it's hard to grasp."

They hummed above her and Hope opened her eyes again. "At the very least, let's get you out of those clothes." They snapped their fingers and Hope felt a rush of warmth. She looked down to see herself in what looked like a pirate getup -a shirt with billowing sleeves tucked into worn trousers and boots.

"I may be a few centuries out of date for human style," they admitted, unconcerned.

"Just a few," Hope said dryly, pulling herself up and looking around. "Where…where am I?"

"You really don't know?" They gave her an odd look. "Take a look outside." They pointed to a door that immediately opened and Hope's mouth dropped open, approaching it slowly in awe.

There were stars and planets, so close and so far and so, so _beautiful._

"Oh, my gods," Hope hardly dared to breathe, standing and approaching the door to look down and then back up again. "Are we…are we just _floating in space?"_

"I mean…not technically," her companion admitted. "We're everywhere and nowhere, between and within, neither here, nor there…you can think of us as Limbo, though my children have always been partial to the Neitherlands, to be perfectly honest."

"Limbo," Hope said weakly, turning back to meet their eyes, "Limbo is a library?"

"Why _not_ a library?" they offered helpfully before giving a small bow. "My name is Elder, I was once a dryad, but you can think of me as The Library's only Librarian. I know everything that's ever been stored here. I know fairytales and ancient knowledge the worlds have forgotten, I know how every story ends and how each one begins."

Hope shut the door to look around herself in awe. She'd never seen a library quite like this one. It seemed to stretch ever on with no end in sight…books upon books, shelves upon shelves…

"You're Hope, aren't you?" Elder asked with realization. "Hope Peverell."

Hope stopped short. She'd never used the Peverell name before, but she'd seen her family tree to know that she and Tom shared Peverell blood. She almost corrected Elder and said 'Potter' but something made the name catch in her throat. Hope had always struggled with her own identity separate from 'the Girl Who Lived'.

"The daughter of Thanatos?" Elder offered helpfully. "The Claimed child of—"

"I'm sorry… _what_?" Hope's brow furrowed in confusion. "My father's name was _James."_

"Well, yes, but you're a _godling_ ," Elder bobbed their head, "godlings have to shed their humanity in order to inherit their godly gifts."

Hope felt like they were on different pages of a book she hadn't realized she'd started. "Sounds painful…is there a book on that?"

Elder beamed brightly. "Actually, there _is!_ Follow me!" And then they took off and Hope had to race after them, almost bowling them over when they came to a stop. "Here it is!" They reached a hand out and the second their skin touched the binding, they had to recoil sharply from smoke, shaking their hand out.

"I always forget how cursed it is," Elder hissed, sucking on their fingers.

"A cursed book?" Hope thought of Tom's diary and how it had wreaked havoc on Ginny at twelve.

"Well, it wasn't written for _me_ , after the Massacre of Elysium, the gods decided to be more careful about who had access to information about them, so they ensured such information was so cursed that only godlings could touch it."

Hope didn't understand, but she reached a hand out to touch the spine and felt nothing that burned hotter than the blood in her veins. Her dizziness grew, her stomach roiling and Elder had to move quickly to push a bucket before Hope as she pitched forward and vomited hard into it.

When she opened her eyes again, the contents in the bucket was a pure, rich red.

"You just vomited up…like a _pint_ of blood," Elder noted archly, lifting their eyes to consider Hope.

"Only a pint?" Hope snorted, wiping at her mouth. She could feel her tremors coming on. She undid the clips that held her brace over her arm, suppressing them during the day, only to make them worse during the night. It only became visible when she undid the last latch, dropping it to the floor to pull off the flesh-colored thin glove she'd been wearing underneath it for the whole year.

Her whole arm shook and she looked at the two fingers that had once brushed against the Veil. Being in close presence to Dumbledore for the past year -despite her wishes to not be- meant that she'd gotten a good look at his cursed hand and Hope thought hers shared a lot of similarities.

The fingers were blackened and dead-looking with dark veins spreading up her forearm.

Elder took her hand without asking, poking and prodding at it even as the tremors shook through her. "That's some curse…wherever did you pick it up?"

Hope would've shrugged but she was focusing on the tremors. "Touched something I shouldn't've, that's all. It's fine."

"Its _not_ fine," Elder stared. "You're _dying."_

"Aren't we all?" Hope retorted, unconcerned.

"I must wonder of the madness of mortals in these trying times," Elder muttered, more to themselves than to Hope, but Hope felt the sting nonetheless.

" _Thanks_ ," she said dryly.

For a moment, she expected pity or some somber understanding, but Elder struck her as the type of person to not cry over the inevitability of mortality.

But all Elder said was "Don't cough up your blood on my books." And then they were gone and Hope was coughing wetly into her arm so as not to stain said books.

"Thanks," Hope growled out. "I don't even know what I'm doing here or…but _whatever…"_

The silence was oppressive and Hope tugged out the book that had burned Elder just moments before. It was thin and dusty from being on the shelf for a very long time, untouched.

She blew the dust off the cover. There wasn't a title, just a multitude of symbols…the omega, a curving symbol that Hope was certain she'd once seen on a medallion Parvati or Padma once wore, a twisting Celtic knot. She opened the cover to see an assortment of symbols on the inside page.

Hope slid her fingers over the inverted torch, a symbol of Thanatos, before turning her hand upwards to see the small birthmark on the meat of her palm in the shape of an upside-down torch that she'd never really thought twice about.

Interest piqued; Hope opened it.

There were dozens of pages with lists upon lists extending from family names that all seemed to end abruptly. Varma, Moswell, Katar, Locus…the lists went on and on, until…Peverell. Peverell, which had three lists descending from the name: Absorption, Necromancy, and Umbrakinesis. The first two were far shorter, but the third had six names in total, and between two of them was _Hope Peverell_ , in Hope's own writing.

Hope traced down the lists.

 **Achilles Blackwood**

 _Gift: Absorption -First_

 _Inactive/ Deceased_

They were all like that, all the names listed:

 **Iolanthe Peverell**

 _Gift: Umbrakinesis -First_

 _Inactive/ Deceased_

 **Henry Potter**

 _Gift: Necromancy -Fourth_

 _Inactive/ Deceased_

Every single one, except for two, one whose name had been scratched out:

 **Unknown**

 _Gift: Umbrakinesis -Fourth_

 _Inactive/ Unknown_

 **Hope Peverell**

 _Gift: Unknown_

 _Inactive/ Alive_

She flipped through the pages to reach the forward:

 _The line between mythic might and magic is very fine, and in some cases, completely non-existent. The most basic explanation is that a godling is considered by most to be a Warlock, though they tend to gain their abilities through a deal or pact. In the case of a godling, they are not born with them but may awaken them at a later point in life, often triggered by trauma or pain. Warlocks who have not formally entered into a pact with a god or primordial entity, such as being a godling, may seek patronage outside the god from whom they are descended, though such pacts are rare and only formed out of necessity._

 _Should a descendant be rendered inactive, such as from death or removing oneself from the material plane or even discorporation, the gift they inherited will be passed to someone new. Though rare, it is possible for two godlings within the same family to bear the same gift if one was previously inactive becomes active once more._

 _A Godling of Thanatos has the ability to recall the dead to life, to drain the life from others at a single touch, or power over darkness that Thanatos so fondly cloaks himself in. A Godling of_ _Creidhne might be especially gifted in metalworking. A Godling of Varuna might sail through the skies and the seas unaided, or perhaps be able to ascertain when someone is lying. The godly gifts are unique to the gods to whom godlings share their blood with._

 _But nothing comes without a price._

 _Be warned._

 _Yikes_ …that sounded… _thrilling_. But Hope could never resist tipping the scales a little, teetering on the edge of Dark and Light, stepping into puddles of grey wherever she went. Besides, they were at war; the Order was playing themselves if they thought they'd be able to remain firmly entrenched in the Light. Maybe if they hadn't been so set in their ways, Hope's parents wouldn't have had to die.

She couldn't help but stare when the pages began to flip unaided, past countless pictures and titles until it landed on one of the three words that had been connected to the Peverell name: _Umbrakinesis_

 _Umbrakinesis is the ability to manipulate shadows and darkness, a practitioner of which is sometimes called a Sciomancer, though the meaning of the term has changed over the centuries. The user can create, shape, and manipulate shadows in a variety of ways. Their shadow can exist separate from themselves, doing their bidding; they always have clear vision even in solid darkness; they can camouflage into shadow; they can solidify darkness into the sharpest of weapons; and they might even be able to create a portal out of shadow, though it takes a high level of skill to do so…_

Hope read on.

* * *

"Librarian." Her voice was hard and her eyes colder.

Elder took great care to bow and avoid eye contact. There were rumors that Lady Morrigan could tip the scales of life and death against you if you offended her, that was why she was so feared on the battlefield; she chose who lived and who died. She was, _of course_ , the Raven Queen, the Phantom Queen, the goddess of many spheres of influence…and Elder _really_ didn't want to lose all their books or their troublesome kids.

As it was, the Great Queen wasn't even looking at her. She was standing, with her back to Elder, looking upon a pair of mirrors that were the single items in the tower that Elder had been dragged into. One showed a boy, nearly an adult, with a sketchbook in hand, laughing as he kissed a pretty blonde girl, pushing away a friend that made fun of him. The second showed the girl, Hope Peverell, in the Library, pouring over her book with deep interest, pulling a hair tie off her wrist to tie back the hair that had been threatening to drop into the bucket of blood.

There on the back of her neck was the triple spiral, a symbol of Morrigan.

"My Queen," Elder said carefully, "how might I be of service?"

Dark eyes lifted from the mirrors to consider Elder. They knew they didn't look much, and were even less powerful than they appeared, cut off as they were from their tree.

"You will not reveal my status to Hope Peverell _again,"_ came the sharp words and Elder's tongue burned with her power.

"My apologies," Elder said quickly, "I hadn't realiz—"

"I don't care for your apologies."

Elder quieted just as abruptly, looking into the mirror, to the girl. The Claimed daughter of Morrigan. How she'd gone through her life without knowing that was some miracle…but Elder had read Hope Peverell's book and her mum had definitely done something to make it that way. There was something distinctly… _Rumplestiltskin_ about that part of Hope's story.

Elder watched Morrigan reach out to the mirror, brushing her fingers lightly over the girl's cheek and, as if feeling it, Hope raised a hand to brush something away from her cheek, not lifting her attention from her book.

Claiming was a very… _touchy_ subject. There were so many stories about it, of course, of mortals foolishly offering their firstborn child to deities and spirits and then going back on their word or tricking the god they'd made the deal with in the first place.

In reality, going back on deals rarely ended well for mortals, even if they came to regret their deal, finding they loved their child too much. Hope Peverell's was the first in a good few centuries, as the gods preferred to remain apart from mortals since the Massacre. Morrigan counted as Hope's mother, at least to certain people.

Why she didn't want Hope to know about her was a mystery.

"I won't speak of your Claiming, I swear it," Elder promised, giving a small bow. Their movement made Morrigan's guard shift slightly where he stood near the wall, wearing a dark cloak with a hood that stooped low to hide his face, a raven emblem on his breast to indicate his patronage; Elder thought it seemed that his attention was focused on the girl in the mirror, but they couldn't be sure. "But she's running out of time."

Morrigan huffed a faint laugh. "Only to those who believe _death_ is the _end,_ Librarian. _As you well know."_

Elder did. They might never have anticipated being a parent to a pair of twin godlings, but it was one of the most rewarding experiences of their life. And when the pair had been left to them, they'd already undergone the transition of shedding their humanity and had just as quickly made deals with their respective gods of choice: Varuna and Apollo. Hiding godling warlocks in a school that used wands that they didn't need was always something immensely amusing to Elder.

"Of course," Elder said simply, inclining their head once more.

* * *

Hope's head hurt and what she really wanted to do was just lie down and absorb everything because it honestly felt like someone had pried open her head and injected knowledge right into her brain. Elder had talked about her being a godling with so much certainty, but for Hope, who'd gone her whole life thinking she was human…it was a _lot._

Having her name written in a book full of dead godlings names was a _lot._

" _I want to die," she'd whispered at ten, tears in her eyes as she looked at Nathaniel, Nathaniel whose shoulders were sagging with exhaustion and whose fingers were running through her hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head._

" _You don't," Nathaniel had said with certainty, "life is tough, dearest, but so are you…you are struggling, but let me let you in on a little secret. We all struggle, I am struggling right now."_

" _You are?" Hope had asked wetly._

 _Nathaniel nodded. "You're my life-line, little shadow, who will keep me afloat if you sink?"_

 _It had been like the flip of a switch. "I won't let you drown," Hope promised._

" _I know you won't," Nathaniel smiled._

Hope scrubbed at her eyes, rubbing away the tears. It was still hard to talk about those days when she'd been stuck in a hospital cot, leg in agony. Dean was the first person she'd told about that time…she hadn't even told George about how bad it had been, just how much Nathaniel had helped her. They'd met once, after she'd started living with her boyfriend.

Nathaniel had liked George, which had surprised him, since Sirius had always professed distaste for him (it was all an act, Hope knew, but it wasn't like she could prove it with Sirius too dead to counter her).

"Look after my girl, would you?" he'd asked George and George had seen the pleased flush on Hope's face.

"I will," he promised, earning him a demonic grin that Hope had down pat.

Hope stood up, popping her shoulders as she did so, tucking the book under her arm as she prowled the stacks for something new to read. Her attention caught on a new plaque on a long stack of book shelves that simply read ' _Books of Life'._

She couldn't help but be intrigued, trailing down the stacks, pausing at the D's to see an Albus Dumbledore next to an Adriana and Aberforth…there were a lot more Dumbledores, though. Her fingers paused on the thick binding for Albus before retracting her hand. Maybe some things were better off unknown.

Hope continued down the stacks until she reached the P's. Her name wasn't that hard to find. But it, like the name Elder had called her, was under Peverell…and to its right was a book bearing the name _Iolanthe Peverell_ …her name had been in that book on godlings, with the word _first_ attached to it.

She slid it out and opened it up to the first page. _'On a dark and story night, Iolanthe Peverell was born to Ignatia Peverell and Alford Elwood, without a drop of magic in her veins, she thought herself a disappointment to her parents, but Iolanthe cared little for magic and in many years would come to despise it, making a name for herself as a Hunter of Monsters that would eventually lead her into the company of the man who would one day become her husband…'_

Hope sat down and began to read.

* * *

Padma got bored easily, it was a problem and she knew it, but it wasn't like the library at school could really compare to the Neitherlands. Elder always rolled their eyes at that name, but Padma and Parvati liked it. Elder literally called it a place that was 'neither here nor there' and Neitherlands was cooler than _Limbo,_ even Parvati agreed.

But Padma had some time to kill before her date with Mandy -they were trying to spend as much time together before the war _really_ kicked off- so running home to borrow some books was a no brainer.

She slid her key into a random keyhole, twisting it and opening it, looking within what should've been an empty room but was instead a massive high-reaching library filled head to toe with books. She grinned to herself, removing the key and entering, tucking the key back under her robes.

She and Parvati were the only ones that had keys to get into the Neitherlands Library, so she wasn't expecting there to be anyone else in the massive library but she had to pause, because sitting there on a stool bent over a book was _"Hope?"_

* * *

 **AN: When I first wrote Padma and Parvati, they weren't godlings, but now I'm changing it up, because its more interesting to have four godlings from three different mythologies as the last of the godlings on earth.**

 **Hope was very depressed when she was ten** **, no friends, an outsider, was literally pushed in front of a care by her supposed family, was in a lot of pain, and was probably being blamed for the medical bills...she probably should've gone to therapy years ago for that...**

 **There's a lot of interesting changes coming up!**

 **As always: Please review!**


	3. Nathaniel Lord

**Serpent Tongue: Chapter Three: Nathaniel Lord**

 **AN: A lot of positive reception to the changes I've made, which is a relief :)**

* * *

" _Hope?"_

She raised her head in surprise to stare at Padma, who was equally startled.

"Padma? What're you doing here?"

Padma sputtered faintly. "I _live_ here! How did you even _get_ here?"

"Oh, well…" Hope scratched her cheek slightly with consideration. "I kinda went through a tree and came out of a fountain."

"Came out… _of a fountain?"_ Padma asked dubiously, her eyes flicking behind her. She couldn't see the fountain, it was too far away, but it wasn't very deep and it wasn't like the fountains outside. Padma and Parvati had gone world-jumping through those ones before, Elder had been absolutely furious.

Retrospectively, Padma got that, since two of the worlds they'd been to hadn't had any oxygen.

"Through the one _inside_ the Library?" Padma insisted. "Not the ones outside the Library?"

Hope's brow furrowed. "Aren't we floating in space?"

"Are we?" Padma frowned. "We must be in flux…usually we're pretty stationary…but you got here without a key?"

"You need a key?"

Padma was getting pretty frustrated now. " _We_ do, and we _live here."_

"Uh…" Hope paused carefully. "Sorry."

Only Hope Potter would go through a tree and make it into a world between worlds. Padma shook her head slightly, looking close at Hope. Looking at her and Dean had been really hard when they'd first met each other, though Padma hadn't really interacted all that much with them at the start, being in a separate house, but Parvati hadn't had that luxury.

She said the first time she'd looked them dead in the eye, her heart had stopped in her chest, because it was like she could see a flicker of the skull beneath.

The sign of Death, no matter the mythology.

Padma took note of the book by her feet and she knelt to grab it. "You read the godling book."

"Only bits and pieces," Hope admitted, "I was more interested in—"

She hefted her book and Padma saw the curling calligraphy of Iolanthe Peverell. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering Parvati stumbling out of the door to the Mirror Room, so pale and shaking, holding that single book. Padma had hid it before Elder had come running, terrified and furious because _'You weren't to enter the Mirror Room! I told you to never—!'_

"Talk about a tragic story," Padma sighed, "not an easy read, but if that's what you're interested in…how far in are you?"

"Henry Potter proposed six times and then Iolanthe asked him to marry her…" Hope smiled faintly.

"It _is_ a bit romantic," Padma had to admit, "but godlings don't get too much of happy endings…"

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Hope noticed and Padma sighed heavily, looking for another stool to sit on and dragging it next to Hope.

Her fingers twisted into familiar motions she'd learned years ago, making the air ripple around them. Hope blinked in surprise. "Sorry, that's just a spell to keep people from overhearing us. Elder really regrets teaching us it."

Hope had never seen anything like it.

"Hope…" Padma spoke carefully. "Parvati and I…we were born with magic, our mother was a witch, but our father was a godling of a Hindu god called Varuna. When we were eight, we had to rip out our magic and then our parents were killed."

" _What—?"_

"You've read some of the book, right?" She held it up and Hope nodded. "Did you read the part about how 'magic and mythic might can't coexist'?"

Hope remembered that quotation. She nodded again.

"Sometimes…the equation, the _balance_ gets a bit off, and it feels like your body's attacking itself…like an autoimmune disease, so you want to get rid of the thing that's causing you the most trouble, right?"

"Right," Hope agreed.

"The problem is, being a godling is in your blood and your bones, you can't rid yourself of it…but magic has a core, and sure, it might be tangled with your soul and your body, but it can be removed…so we had our magic ripped out and then we lost our parents in the same day."

Hope swallowed thickly. "What happened to them?"

Padma blinked furiously. She could barely remember them, to be honest, not with Elder around to look after her and Parvati. "Elder calls him the Beast With No Name, honestly, he sounds more like a nightmare in a children's story, which, I mean, he totally _is,_ he's supposed to be this malevolent trickster with the powers of god who likes wearing the skin of mortals for fun."

"That's not terrifying _at all,"_ Hope said dryly.

Padma's mouth twitched. "Whatever it was, it killed them, and we were brought here to live…Elder says sometimes its too dangerous for realized godlings to live in the physical world, because he can find you there. You'd think it sounds like regular parent scaring kid with scary story to keep them inside after dark, right?" Padmé flipped to the front of the book, flipping through the pages of names upon names. "But all these people? All the godlings? They're _dead_. There's four of us left because we keep getting killed off."

Hope's mouth was dry and she swallowed again.

"You haven't reached the Massacre of Elysium yet, have you?" Padma probed and Hope remembered Elder mentioning it before. "I'll give you the highlights. Elysium was named after the paradise in the Greek Underworld, it was a safe haven for _any_ and _every_ godling. Three hundred and twelve people were living within its boundaries, and three hundred and twelve godlings were slaughtered in a _single night."_

Hope stared.

"The gods were furious, so they asked Iolanthe to level the field. So, she went to a nearby town and took three hundred and twelve lives in return…and then Nicolas Flamel slit her throat and used her blood to make his Philosopher's Stone."

" _What?"_ Hope croaked.

"And, of course, Henry came rushing out to save her, but it was too late. He died beside her and their children grew up as orphans."

The book tumbled from her hands and Hope stood up suddenly with a rasp of "I need to breathe" darting away.

Padma watched her go with a sigh.

"That was harsh," came a voice behind her and Padma stiffened, turning to see an unfamiliar figure. He was very tall with warm skin and bronze curls cascading. There were sunglasses to hide his eyes and he certainly seemed fairly… _normal_ in his EMT uniform, but there was something about him that radiated power.

Padma had only met Varuna a few times, but Varuna felt a lot like this man.

She stared as he leaned down to pick the book up with Iolanthe's name on it, sliding a mournful hand over the lettering and then handing it back to Padma. He gave her a very direct look. "How would you feel about a friend pulling the rug out from under your feet about something about yourself that you didn't know?"

It was a rebuke and Padma couldn't help but recoil slightly. "S-sorry."

The man gave a soft hum and a faint tilt of his head that was all Hope.

Padma stared. " _Oh."_

He slid his sunglasses down to reveal pitch black holes where his eyes should've been. He winked one before sliding them up again and heading down the stacks after Hope.

* * *

"Hope, _dearest_ , what are you doing?" came a familiar, exasperated voice and Hope twisted around to see Nathaniel Lord, standing there bold as brass, hands on his hips and staring at her where she was standing in the middle of the fountain.

"What?" she asked dubiously.

"Dearest, please get out of the fountain," he sighed, pinching his brow. "Soaking yourself in water isn't an effective way to calm down, _we've had this conversation."_

"Then why do I feel better after soaking in the shower?" Hope pointed out, unimpressed.

"Hot water lowers anxiety and detoxifies the body, we've _talked_ about this…dearest, _please_ get out of the water."

Hope conceded, a bit sourly, wading back towards him, finally a faint smile appearing as she wound her arms around his shoulders, cocooning her face into the crook of his neck allowing him to pull her easily out of the fountain and set her beside him, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"You look tired, dearest," Nathaniel hummed.

"You know, _I'm so tired,"_ she leaned her head on his shoulder. "Up until I was ten, I thought I was one person, then at eleven, _surprise!_ You're something completely different! And now, _oops!_ Turns out we were _wrong_ and you're something even more different than before!"

Nathaniel smiled faintly. "That must be frustrating."

"Why couldn't someone have just told me who I was from the start?" Hope complained. "Hey, Hope, I know this might come as a shock, but you're actually related to a god! _C'est la vie_ , go be kids, but, you know, there are some people in this world who may just have to kill you for being alive! And by the way! You'll probably be dead by the next month at this rate, but, you know, just _food for thought."_

"Three weeks," Nathaniel corrected as Hope rubbed at her eyes.

"What?" she asked.

"Its not a month, its three weeks," he explained lightly. "Your death date is coming up in three weeks."

Hope paused and stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time.

"You _fucker,"_ she finally said, emphatically. "You. _Mother._ _Fucker."_

Nathaniel coughed, cheeks gaining a bit more color. "I mean, if you want to get technical, that's a few generations too close to be accurate."

Hope punched him in the arm, once, twice, _three_ times.

"Ow! _Hey!"_ Nathaniel recoiled from the strikes and Hope could almost imagine him as something less than a god. She could almost imagine him the way she'd always thought of him; a kind man with a good heart who made her hope when all the lights had gone out, who was a steady hand when she struggled to walk again, who smirked when she blushingly admitted to liking George Weasley far more than a friend, who taught her how to stitch a wound 'just in case', who sang that sad, _sad_ lullaby when Hope needed it.

"Is _everyone_ I know a liar?" Hope demanded furiously.

"Hey, now—" Nathaniel opened his mouth to counter that argument before conceding the point. "Well, okay, point taken, I might've lied about who I was, but I _never_ lied about how I felt. I _do_ care about you, deeply, I'm being serious," he complained when she scoffed. "I may be older than I look and significantly less human than originally thought, but I promise _I do love you_. You're my child, one of my last, the only one I recognize."

Hope scowled fiercely and he flinched hard.

"I am cursed with that face," he lamented, stalling Hope briefly, "only Morrigan would be so cruel."

"Nath, what the fuck," Hope said with so much exasperation.

(One day he'll have to tell her about the woman she looked like, but there's still time for that.)

He reached out and held her face in his hands and Hope froze, looking into his glasses as he attempted to memorize her face, like he was afraid of forgetting it within the next three weeks. "Which one do you think I am?"

"Which god?" Hope asked, flummoxed. She had a lot of considerations, she supposed, but she remembered the hard gravel cutting into her back, pain blooming in her leg…and then feeling like she was floating away until a cold hand gripped her arm, jerking her back to life. "Death, I suppose."

His mouth curved and he pressed a kiss to her brow like how James must have when he'd still been alive, back when she was still a child. "Sometimes I wonder if you're _too_ clever for your own good."

"You've never met Hermione Granger," Hope replied with ease. "Or the other half of the Weasley Twins." People never seemed to count Fred or George, though, which Hope always thought was ridiculous; they had to be brilliant to come up with all their inventions.

"And you certainly never like to be at the center of attention," he mused fondly, painfully. "You are _so_ like her."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm the spitting image of Mum, I've heard," Hope waved him off in annoyance.

" _No,"_ he said, making her pause, "you are so like Adelaide."

Hope raised her head to meet his eyes, almost. Nathaniel had talked about Adelaide before; she was an ex-girlfriend that had died in a tragic accident. Nathaniel had never really recovered from it.

But Hope had always supposed if she'd lost George, she'd've been the same way…but now knowing that Nathaniel was a god…somehow the idea that he had loved just _one_ woman so _completely_ was…tragic and romantic and utterly beautiful.

She looked away.

He offered her his hand. "Come with me. There's so much I have to explain."

And Hope, who had never had a reason to doubt Nathaniel Lord, and even less so to doubt Thanatos, god of death, took it without reservation.

And blinked, finding herself standing in The Feywild, the lovely little café that she and Nathaniel might as well've been regulars at. They remembered Hope when she was a pale and too-thin ten-year-old with a clunky leg brace and a permanent grimace from pain. They remembered Hope when she was an almost-thirteen-year-old with brightly colored hair and a crush what would kiss her in two days' time. They remembered Hope when she was a tired fifteen-year-old, so over death, emotionally, and sloshing her tea around her cup more than drinking it.

"Ah, our favorite customers!" Sylvar's smile was broad and too-too sharp, her hair hanging loose and when Hope had been too young to know about magic, she'd always thought she'd imagined the pointed ears, but Hope wasn't too young now. "The usual spot with the usual drink?"

"Leave us the pot, would you, dear?" Nathaniel asked mildly and Sylvar's smile fell, looking from Hope's pale face, the dark crescents under her eyes to the exhaustion lining Nathaniel's.

"Sure," she said easily. "One pot of pomegranate tea coming up."

Hope tossed her a grateful smile, tugging off her jacket and sliding into the booth.

"Sure, you don't want anything to eat, luv?" she asked Hope carefully. "You're looking a bit _thin."_

Hope barely ate anymore, it was true. If she wasn't vomiting up blood, it was whatever she was eating. "I don't have much of an appetite these days."

Sylvar eyed her. "You're not pregnant, are you?"

That startled a laugh out of Hope. _"No,"_ she snorted, "I'm not pregnant."

"Well, I _had_ to ask," Sylvar retorted in amusement, "I've _seen_ what your boy looks like."

Hope flushed with heat.

"Why don't I bring out something anyway? You can just nibble on it if you want," Sylvar offered.

Hope hated turning her down. "All right."

The next thing she knew, there was a plate of bangers and mash and a few eggs added in for good measure in front of her and she was tossing an exasperated look towards Sylvar, who winked. So, Hope nibbled on her sausages and waited for Nathaniel to begin.

The only currency that had ever mattered to Hope had always been, and always would be, _stories._ Telling stories was one of the first things George had ever done to make her slowly fall for him. And Nathaniel was _such_ a good story teller.

"I am very old," Nathaniel said, like Hope hadn't figured that out, "but one day, centuries ago, a woman wandered into my realm, into the Underworld. She was a Warlock, she'd made a deal with Morrigan for magic, and she was so very _bold."_ Nathaniel's mouth twisted. "She was on a quest, you see, and I had something she wanted. 'I would beg an audience with you, Lord—'"

"—but I fear I haven't the time nor the patience. But know that it is of the utmost importance that I gain what I seek,'" Hope couldn't help but finish the quote, eyes meeting his. "You're talking about Magic-Spinner."

"Yes, I suppose I am." His voice was caught somewhere between fond and immeasurably sad.

"Was that Adelaide?" Hope asked carefully.

"It was…it was years before I saw her again, and by that time, she was a fully realized Warlock, not some slip of a girl who made a deal out of desperation, so clever and brilliant and so very _sad."_

"Because she lost her lover." That was the thing that made Magic-Spinner's story so tragic. She'd undergone that quest, collected all the keys she'd been directed to…and she'd still _failed._

That was the thing that Hope had liked the most, how realistic it was; sometimes, no matter what you did, you still failed.

"Yes," Nathaniel agreed, his tea swirling around in his cup unaided. "I didn't think she recognized me at first…and she had always been _intriguing,_ so I stuck around, helped her create devastating and powerful spells and somewhere, somehow…"

"You fell in love." Hope took a bigger bite of her sausage tentatively, feeling like Nathaniel was the reason her stomach wasn't yet roiling.

"Yes," he said again, taking a sip of tea. "Do you remember the Tale of Three Brothers?"

"Of course." Of Beedle's stories, it had been her favorite, and she could still remember George reading it out loud to her at fifteen as she tucked herself against his shoulder, slowly falling asleep.

"Apart from some mild gender inaccuracies, its fairly accurate," he mused.

"You had three daughters?" Hope realized.

Nathaniel nodded. "I crafted the Elder Wand for Antigone, always so fierce and a warrior to the last breath. The Resurrection Stone was made for Europa, always so prone to looking to the dead to solve her problems. And the Cloak of Invisibility I gifted to Ignatia, so determined to remain hidden even when others stopped looking."

Hope couldn't help but smile. "Ignatia sounds like me."

"She was," Nathaniel smiled too. "But all my daughters may have been half-god, but their skills lied in magic, not godly power. It wasn't until they had children that I realized more than my likeness had been passed on…my children can inherit one of three abilities—"

"Life absorption, necromancy, and umbrakinesis," Hope ticked them off on her fingers and turned pink when he stared. "There's, um, a book on it."

Nathaniel's smile grew sharper. "There is."

Hope swallowed a bite of eggs. "Was Padma right? Did Nicolas Flamel really use Iolanthe Peverell to make the Philosopher's Stone?"

His mouth thinned into a hard line. "He did. For the same reason Tom Riddle cut down the last of the Blackwoods and went after your family."

Hope scoffed. "Immortality isn't something people like that should be allowed to obtain. You shouldn't be able to make it like _that."_

"Well, mortals always want what they can't have," Nathaniel shrugged as though he was so far removed from the situation. "Invulnerability and immortality are certainly high on the list…but the ritual to create a philosopher's stone is difficult and _complicated_ and involves the blood of a child of Death…not strictly mine, but by some cruel twist of fate, the only godlings that remain are ones that have ties to Death in some way. I just… _need_ you to be careful."

Hope's thoughts lingered on what Padma had said, about the Massacre of Elysium, a senseless slaughter. At this point, sadly, Hope was certainly used to killing.

"You're the one that taught me how to know my way around Muggle weaponry," Hope pointed out, remembering how flummoxed she'd been at fourteen, dragged to an open field and given a variety of weapons and taught to use them.

Personally, Hope preferred throwing daggers and crossbows to anything else he'd taught her to use.

She sipped some more tea and Nathaniel pulled something from around his neck to loop it around hers.

"What's this?" She lifted up the heavy chain to see a wrought iron key alongside a smoothed piece of Labradorite. "Wait…this is the key, right? The one Magic-Spinner won off you in the story?"

" _Won_ makes me sound easy to dupe," Nathaniel complained, but then he gave her another book with bold writing across the front.

"The Tale of Seven Keys," Hope read out loud. "I thought you said that you never managed to write it down?"

"I think we've established that I've embellished the truth a bit over the years," Nathaniel huffed and Hope couldn't help but laugh.

She drank more of her tea. "So, I'm going to be dead in three weeks," she said conversationally, looking down at her blackened fingers and the god's smile fell. "Not really surprising, to be perfectly honest."

Death hadn't fazed her for years, why should her own be any different?

"I think you should take me back to school," she said quietly.

She wondered if he was incapable of saying no to her, because the next second that's where they stood, in the Great Hall, startling a few people.

"What's that saying?" Hope couldn't help but ask. "Legacy is planting seeds in a garden you never get to see?"

Nathaniel knelt, taking off his sunglasses so Hope could see the black pits where eyes should've been, taking her cheek in hand.

"Three weeks is a good amount of time," Hope continued, "besides, if I removed the problem, that would fix it, wouldn't it? Its not always a permanent thing for people like me, right?"

 _If I removed my magic, would that make it better?_

"Right," Nathaniel agreed. "Often that's how it works…removing the problem can shock the body so much that death is the only was to cope with it, temporary as it is."

"Okay," Hope said without blinking. "Then I'll give it up."

Nathaniel laughed faintly, bitterly. "Dearest, it isn't that simple. Your problem is more than a core tangled too deeply." His eyes fell to the scars carved into her arms. "To separate would be _agony."_

"Agony or death?" Hope weighed them mockingly. "I've been tortured before. I can handle a little agony. I'm not scared."

And she wasn't, it was true. But there was nothing brave about it. Knowing you had a clock ticking down meant you had less to worry about losing.

There was a loud gasp and a clatter and Hope turned around to see Parvati staring with wide eyes at Nathaniel.

"Ah, the other daughter of Elder," Nathaniel mused. "A pleasure. Please give my apologies to your sister, I fear I startled her after she made my child panic."

Hope rolled her eyes. "I didn't _panic."_

"You were in a fountain trying to calm down, call it like it is, dearest," he fired back.

"Aren't they _missing you_ in the Underworld?"

"You're, um, you're Thanatos," Parvati barely breathed.

Briefly distracted, Hope punched him in the side and Nathaniel bent over with a wheeze. "Go collect souls, or whatever it is you do when you aren't pretending to be an EMT."

"I regret your birth," Nathaniel wheezed.

"You weren't consulted on me being conceived," Hope retorted, unimpressed.

He bent forward to kiss her temple and then whisper in her ear. "The entrances and exits of the castle are being watched, when you leave, be prepared for a fight, because I promise you, they _will_ be aiming to kill." And then he was gone.

" _Fuck,"_ Hope said emphatically before turning back around and knocking her shoulder against Parvati's shoulder. "Walk with me."

Parvati followed after her quickly.

"On a scale of one to ten, how fucked am I?" she asked finally.

Parvati arched an eyebrow. "Speaking as a Warlock of Apollo? I think you need a higher scale."

Hope laughed even as her stomach roiled again and Parvati's eyes lingered on her blackened fingers. "Would you mind passing on a message to Ron and Hermione for me?"

"Sure," Parvati replied easily.

"Tell them we need everyone back here for another meeting."

* * *

"I'm just saying, it's the best option."

"Having a _battle by air?"_ Hope asked dubiously. "That could be very dangerous. You don't look where you're going? You're _fucked._ You get knocked off your broom? You're _fucked_. Some people aren't even very good at flying, you included."

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair while the rest of the Resistance mingled around them.

"Consider this," George piped up from the mirror set-up that reflected him, Fred, and the rest of the graduated members of the DA that had decided to call into the meeting since they'd hammered out the really important bits at the last one. "You're the one the Death Eaters really want, so why not pull a decoy?"

Hope threw a look at Ron. "I hate when he's nonchalantly brilliant, it _irritates_ me."

George smirked in the mirror. "That's just 'cause you can't snog me."

Hope's eyes narrowed. "Don't test me, love."

"But that's when I find you most attractive," George replied easily and several members of the Resistance rolled their eyes and groaned loudly.

"It's not a bad plan," Ron pointed out, moving to the chalkboard and picking up a piece of chalk. "Okay, what's our biggest problem?"

"Death Eaters at every turn?" Seamus piped up helpfully from a large pillow on the floor, Ginny sitting between his legs, leaning her back into his chest.

"And if Death Eaters board the train, who are they going to go for?"

"You three," Padma pointed out, "they won't waste their time with going after Muggle-borns when the Ministry is technically still standing against them."

"Yeah, but how much longer is that gonna last?" Justin offered.

" _Obviously_ we won't have much of a resistance if we're all _dead,"_ Hope coughed loudly.

"It's your idea to have a fairly public death," Hermione retorted sourly.

"You're doing _what?"_ Fred and George asked as one.

"That's actually pretty smart," Dean interjected, his eyes meeting Hope's and it seemed like a silent conversation passed between them. "You're already a fairly public opposer to You-Know-Who. It would throw off the other side if we suddenly lost our leader and weren't any less effective in battle."

"Okay, but there's still only two ways out of Hogwarts," Fred had to add, being familiar with all the ways in or out. "By sky or by train."

"No." Hope dragged a second chalkboard forward. "There's three." She stole the piece of chalk from Ron, her mouth and eyes moving across the chalkboard as she scrawled out Arithmancy equations that Hermione could barely follow.

It was complicated, the way Hope's brain worked. She'd always had a better head for Ancient Runes, but Arithmancy was a close second and Nathaniel had been always particularly good at maths when Hope had been struggling to catch up with schoolwork in the hospital.

She put in the last equation, looking to Hermione. "Could that work?"

"Did you just come up with that?" Hermione asked aghast.

Hope grinned. "It's an idea I've been working on for a few months." She didn't tell her she thought of it at eleven along with a handful of other spells that she eventually scrapped, including one that was basically a suicide bomb.

"What is it?" Chorused around them.

"An effective trick," Hermione conceded.

Hope's mouth twitched. "Okay, consider this…" She went back Ron's board. "The train leaves Hogwarts in three days…on board is everyone that anyone expects to be there, us included. In reality, all the Muggle-born members of the Resistance are taking the tunnels underneath to get to…I don't know, the next town over? And taking a Muggle train back to London or wherever your families live…and some of us act as decoys for the Death Eaters watching the Express."

"Whoa, hold up," George cut her off, "using _yourself_ as a decoy? That wasn't what I meant!"

"That's how decoys work," Hope snapped. "You _know_ I'm the biggest target! Who can resist a target like Hope Potter flying through the skies on her motorbike?"

"I'm gonna _kill her,"_ George told Fred soundly and he snorted.

"If she's dead, you can't snog her," Fred pointed out helpfully.

Hope and George ignored him.

"I think a better question is…when are they going to attack?" Ron directed them back to the issue at hand. "At the start or further in?"

"And are we absolutely sure that they're even going to attack?" Daphne pressed. "It would be pretty bold to attack so soon after the last one."

Hogwarts had been repaired but Hope got the feeling that they wouldn't attack on her soil again. Hope sat on a table and pulled out the phone.

"Is that a mobile?"

"I thought electronics don't work around this much magic?"

"They do if they're enchanted by a god," Hope retorted, pressing a number and holding it to her ear. "You said the Death Eaters are going to be watching the entrances and exits, but you really meant the train, right?"

" _Hope, you realize I'm in the middle of something, right?"_ Nathaniel asked with great strain.

Hope imagined his hand wrist deep in someone's ribcage, looking for a soul. "I'm the last of your relations," she replied unimpressed, "not including the ego maniac trying to kill me."

She ignored the muttering around her.

" _Yes, I meant the train,"_ Nathaniel sighed. _"You can't ask me how things turn out because there are rules—"_

Hope rolled her eyes in exasperation to everyone around her. "Whatever, Nath. Are they going to attack close to King's Cross or what?"

She could practically feel his glare. _"I can't keep giving you hints."_

Hope smirked. "Remember when I was ten and you said if I bat my eyes, I could get anything I wanted? That doesn't just work on George, _dearest_ , it works on _you_ too…the only difference is I'm your kid and he's thinking about snogging me against a wall."

Nath made a strangled sound on the other end and almost everyone looked at George where he was banging his red face against the table the mirror was positioned. Fred looked mildly concerned and mildly amused.

"I think he's dead," he said flatly and Hope ignored him.

" _Yes, close to the station."_

"Great," Hope smiled, "love ya." And she hung up on him, tucking it back into her pocket. "All right, good news, they'll attack close to the station, which means we'll have several hours to tail them and offer a better target. I don't care if I'm the only one flying that day. But they'll go after the Muggle-borns first, I guarantee you, so you lot going by the tunnels is the safest option."

"Someone's gonna notice if we're all not on the train, though," Colin spoke up from the back.

"They won't notice," Hermione said sourly, shooting Hope a look, "because the equation on the board is for a spell that makes a double…a doll, really. They'll all think we're on the train when we aren't…and I'm going with you, _don't even argue."_

Hope arched an eyebrow. "You realize this isn't going to be like the Department of Mysteries, right? They're going to be casting killing curses and I'll be casting them back."

" _Fine."_

Hope stared, but Hermione had been preparing herself for this moment for days, readying for the impending war. The kid gloves needed to come off if they wanted to win.

"We could be _killed."_

"Sounds like every year at this school with you."

A laugh startled out of Hope and she looked more alive than she had in months.

"And it won't be just Muggle-borns in the tunnels," Ron added, "it's ridiculous to leave some of us as risk when we're _all_ at risk, all of us here are at risk…we should all be going through the tunnels, except those that want to play decoy."

"I'll volunteer." Hope turned to consider Cho Chang, who hadn't attended any DA meetings over the past year, who had only reached out to Hope earlier that day about wanting join, wanting to fight. "You'll need people decent at flying _and_ spell casting."

Hope's mouth twitched. "All right, then."

"Us too," George added, "we'll curse anyone's ass, as long as Ron and Ginny are in the tunnels, not in the air."

Ginny's expression soured but Ron met her eyes. She was Hope's fall back if things went sideways and he was her right hand. "Fine," they said as one and the twins relaxed, just slightly, to those who knew them best. "Anyone else?"

"Not Angelina," Hermione cut in quickly, "you're too valuable as one of the only healers."

Angelina's expression soured next to Fred. _"Fine."_

"Oliver, Alicia, and I can handle it," Katie added.

Hope's coin grew hot in her hand with an additional _"I'm in."_

"Here's to starting a rebellion," she murmured to herself with an exasperated shake of her head.

* * *

 **AN: Hope absolutely had a John Mulaney quote. Iolanthe Peverell's story is pretty tragic, and I've known for years that Nicolas Flamel was her murderer, so its fun to finally show it to you guys.**

 **As always: please review!**


	4. Escape From Hogwarts

**Stand Tall: Chapter Four: Escape From Hogwarts**

 **AN: Loving the love for this fic! I hope I continue to impress! I have one book on Latin but my Latin abilities are limited, so bear with me.**

 **Can I offer you an air battle in these trying times?**

* * *

Dean knew they were all brilliant in their own right, but seeing the trio's plans come to fruition was…startling and impressive and so very _terrifying._

That doll spell that Hope had come up - _honestly, what the fuck, Hope?-_ was so scarily accurate that in a matter of moments, Dean had found himself staring at what could've been his identical twin brother.

"Off you go," Hope snapped to the doubles and they practically ran off, which Dean thought was pretty accurate of anyone that didn't want to cross Hope Potter. "The rest of you, stand back."

Boarding was going to take another half hour, and for all intents and purposes, they would all be on the train, but, thankfully, they were high enough up in the castle that no one was going to run into them.

"Stand clear," Hope barked, pulling a small jar with a dark substance sloshing within it and a paintbrush. His stomach roiled, knowing immediately it was blood and _wishing_ he didn't.

He watched her paint crimson across the stone, Hermione holding up the reference image, which Hope glanced at from time to time before she cleared her throat, coming to the last swirl of runes. Hermione took the blood from Hope with a bit of resignation and an air of someone who had done this before for Hope, which wouldn't have surprised Dean.

"Here's to hoping I don't vomit up blood," Hope mused out loud as she settled her hands against stone where there was no blood. "Brace me," she said, and Dean didn't know what she meant, but Hermione and Ron did.

They gripped the loops at the back of her jeans, steadying their legs, as she intoned " _ **Transitus…subter!"**_

The stone glowed under her hands, trembling fiercely and Dean couldn't help but notice the dark drops dribbling down next to her shoes. Dean painfully watched her push herself until the stone melted away and Hermione and Ron -in a practiced move- yanked her back.

And Hope vomited what must've been a pint of blood onto the ground, causing a stir, but no one dared to approach with Ron and Hermione right there, murmuring to her. Hope nodded, wiping her mouth on her sleeve and Ron vanished the blood while Hermione gave her a small potion.

Dean recognized the Blood Replenisher after watching Daphne brew a bucket's worth in preparation of the war.

"I'll be _fine,"_ she promised out loud, "we've got stuff to do, don't worry about me."

Ron scowled, but then he went to the hole in the wall and peered down. "That's gonna be about as fun to ride down as that passage in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to the Chamber," he decided with a quick, "sorry, Gin."

Ginny rolled her eyes, her mouth thin.

"You don't have the added fear of a basilisk in your path," Hope pointed out, voice faintly weak, but getting stronger.

It was still _weird_ to think about just how much experience those three, especially Hope, had. That Ron at twelve had gone with Hope into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue his sister…it was beyond _mental._

"Is it showing up on the Map?" Hermione asked feverishly and Dean could see now that she was one of the only things keeping Hope upright.

Ron dug out an old parchment. "Yeah…it showing up… _blimey_ is it a long way."

"I have faith in you," Hope promised.

Ron swore under his breath, ears red. "You can't just _say_ that stuff—"

Hope ignored him, returning her attention to the Resistance. "All right, everyone, we probably won't see each other until we meet up at out headquarters…that means, get out, get safe and stay safe, _all right?_ If you think you're being followed, _run_. I don't care if the Death Eaters look like Ministry officials, run. It's always better safe than sorry."

There were hums and nods at her words.

"You've all got your galleons?...Good. Okay what about the mobiles?"

Getting a disposable phone for every member had been a trial, and enchanting them to work when they were electronics around magic was even harder, but Hermione had been up to the challenge.

(Teaching them to use them when they didn't know how was nothing short of hilarious, though)

"Right, good, keep an eye on those," Hope said, relieved when they all still had them. "I'll send the coordinates when its time to regroup, all right?...Be safe, okay? And follow Ron's directions."

He hugged her sharply and then Hermione, leaving her with a chaste kiss. "Don't get killed."

Hope's mouth twisted in irony before she gifted a few hugs to the truly nervous members of the Resistance until the Greengrasses and Dean were left.

And there was something in Dean's eyes, something sharp and clear, something that made Hope sigh. She pulled a chain from around her neck and looped at around him. "Keep this for me, will you?"

Dean considered it. "A key?"

"It's an old family heirloom," Hope smiled faintly.

"You _aren't_ going to die today," Dean told her flatly and Daphne breathed in sharply.

"Gods, I hope not," Hope chuckled, "can you imagine how _pissed_ George would be if I died without him?"

"You're _not_ funny."

"Fuck off," she replied without any bite, "I'm _hysterical."_

He hugged her tightly and somehow, she had never felt quite so small. "Kill some Death Eaters for me?"

Hope smiled broadly, a red stained smile. "Down for murder? Maybe we are related…Astoria, Daphne, you look after yourselves, all right?"

They both hugged her. "Only if you do."

"Well, I'll do my best," Hope laughed, giving them one last wave before the three hopped down the curved slide. "See ya on the flip side!"

It was only when they'd gone that Hope melted the stone back into place and Hermione hid the painted blood under a new tapestry.

"Ready to go?" Hope asked, her legs shaky as she started walking.

"You know we have time, right?" Hope pointed out. "We can take a breather."

"Nah," Hope said. "I'll be all right…how was Crookshanks about being stuffed into Ginny's bag?"

Hermione shot her a cool look as they started walking, Hope's skin darkening somewhat, hair turning short and bronze, and eyes a cool black, unintentionally replicating Nathaniel's appearance. "He's _thrilled."_

Hope laughed.

* * *

Hope was in full view of Hermione, who she knew was watching her intently, despite her telling her friend that she was fine and would be fine standing out in the chilly air for a few minutes outside of the Three Broomsticks.

(Madam Rosmerta wasn't yet back to work, but she had a niece to run the pub and inn while she recovered)

Everyone else had arrived. Hermione was keeping company with Cho, Oliver, Katie, and Alicia, which meant they were only waiting on the Weasley twins and one more.

Hope jumped at the loud crack that split the air, almost dislodging the cigarette in her fingers -lit and unsmoked, as Hope just needed a sound reason to duck outside for a few minutes-, hands darting to her wand holster as she twisted—

"Started smoking, have you?" an amused voice commented. "You know your boy has an oral fixation, don't _kill_ him."

Hope snorted as George shot his twin a look, red suffusing across his face and _damn_ , was it a good look. Hope snuffed out the cigarette in the mouth of the small statue next to the door, which immediately chewed up the cigarette, which it was spelled to do.

"Fred, you _know_ you're my favorite," she sang, dancing forward to wind her arms around the tall man, kissing his cheek soundly.

Fred laughed. "And I know you only say that rile up George."

Hope smirked. "You know me too well."

George rolled his eyes at the pair of them. "But look and how flustered he gets!" George's cheeks flushed brightly, even when Hope wound her arms around his neck to drag him down low enough to get a kiss under his jaw where he'd always been weak.

He coughed thickly, the pink turning to crimson and Fred laughed as he joined their cohorts inside. "You're _incorrigible."_

Hope's eyes gleamed and she kissed the same spot again, this time slower and with a bit more suction. _"Mm_ , is that a way of saying you missed me?"

George's mind had briefly blanked and he just barely tuned back in to 'missed me'. "Only every day, love."

It wasn't the face he knew -but wasn't that the point?- but Hope's face positively glowed. Her hands reached up to cup his cheeks. "You know, you being a giant is a massive turn off."

The laugh crept out of him. " _Bullshit."_ He turned his face in her hands so he could press a kiss to her palm. "That's like ninety percent of your attraction to me, dragging me down for a kis—"

She yanked him down to her level to whisper into his ear. "Love, ninety percent of my attraction to you is how shaky your voice gets when I kiss you in _just the right place_ …" She smirked, kissing under his ear with intent. " _Ten percent_ is dragging you down for a kiss."

George swallowed thickly before grasping her chin and dragging her into a kiss that strangled the breath from her lungs. She hummed happily against him, tangling her fingers into his hair and tugging as his hands slid down her back, tracing down her spine.

" _Gods_ , I've missed you," Hope gasped when they parted, his fingers tracing down her throat in a way that dazed her, because she knew he did that to let her know where he'd like his mouth to be if they weren't in public.

The first time he'd told her that, whispering quietly in her ear, teeth tugging on her lobe for good measure, Hope had turned bright red and, feeling lightheaded, had to clutch at George's arm to hold her upright.

Her fingers curved over his lips to his jaw and under his ear and his eyelids fluttered faintly, imagining the future kisses to come.

"Kinda sucks that this is the only time I'll get to see you in a while," Hope groaned, her head resting against his chest and he wound his arms around her, kissing the top of her head.

"As long as I get to see you again," George said, feeling the weakness in her body and seeing the tiredness in her eyes and the thinness in her cheeks. He held one and she leaned into it. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I don't want you to worry." Hope tried not to think of Nathaniel's quiet pain and sorrow.

"I'm always gonna worry about you," George promised, a faint smile just for her. "Better get used to it."

He locked their hands together and kissed the back of her hand.

"I always thought I was going to marry you," Hope sighed and he stared. "Not that I don't love you completely…but my parents married _so soon_ and died _so soon_ …and your mother's always harping on your dad—" George couldn't help but snort. "And…I don't know if I could _do it_ …I'd just like the idea of being by your side until I die, running off somewhere where no one can find us, like a secluded corner of Greece."

George laughed. "We'd have to tell _someone._ Fred wouldn't last a day without hearing from me."

"He will if we leave Angie as the distraction."

It was almost easy, but Hope's smile faded all too quickly.

"I'm not well," she admitted after a long moment and the way George looked to her told her that he knew that well enough. George had never been stupid and Hope had barely been keeping anything down for months.

(Mrs. Weasley had had her thoughts about that, Hope knew, she'd seen the glowers thrown towards her and George, despite the fact that both were quite comfortably virgins. Remus had known better, at least, his nose sharp enough to discern she wasn't with child, but not enough to figure out what truly ailed her)

"I know," he said. "How bad is it?" George was practical patience where Fred was fierce fire, like Hope, an irony that never escaped him.

" _Bad_ ," Hope said thickly, "my magic is killing me."

George's grip on her hand tightened briefly. "I didn't know magic could do that."

"Maybe not to humans," Hope sighed, "but it seems I'm _significantly_ less human than originally thought…Nath explained some things."

George remembered Nathaniel. He was, _embarrassing_ as it was to admit, a difficult man to forget. There had always been an odd similarity between the pair. Hope hugged him with ease and he always stooped to dust a kiss to her cheek. And there was something about the way they moved, not necessarily careful or precise, but quick to react and fleeting, like a shadow.

"I touched the Veil in the Department of Mysteries…it's, I'm not quite sure what it is, but it's _godly,_ and humans can't touch it without dying, like…" Sirius' name couldn't break through her throat. She shook off the wave of sorrow that hadn't quite left. " _Well_. I wasn't human, so it just turned my body against itself…apparently it'll kill me in three weeks, maybe less, if I don't remove my magic."

Hope had a lot of strange views on magic, but that was nothing out of the norm. She'd never liked Fred or George (or anyone really) using magic frivolously. Wand-magic didn't really have any drawbacks, not like the ancient forms of magic, sure you could get tired after using a powerful or dangerous spell, but ancient magic could put you in a coma, poison the blood in your veins…it was _pure, unrefined power_.

George had taken to cooking the old-fashioned way with Hope, without a wave of a wand, which Fred had always regarded as odd, but somehow him and Hope in a kitchen together, slicing vegetables and bestowing kisses with flirts and jokes…somehow that worked better, George thought.

But he couldn't imagine Hope without magic, try as he might.

"Are you going to?" he asked suddenly. "Find a way to remove it before it kills you?" His heart was racing in his chest.

It was always a tricky question: _did Hope value living more than magic?_

Hope kissed him. "If things go south…I love you more than the stars in the sky."

It was a non-answer, one that George didn't particularly like, but he was distracted by a thick voice asking "Am I the last one?"

Hope released George to give Viktor Krum a smile and a one-armed hug. "Absolutely, Viktor, how are you?"

The former Durmstrang champion squeezed her with his only free arm, faintly bemused but not altogether unsurprised by her change in appearance from what he remembered her to fondly sport.

"Vell," he replied, considering her, "new look?"

Hope laughed. "You know me…and you remember my boyfriend, George?"

Viktor nodded solemnly, shaking George's hand. "I hope you are a fair flier."

George's mouth twisted. "Very fair."

"Then vhat are ve vaiting for?" the Bulgarian demanded, sliding past them and into the Three Broomsticks with his broom over his shoulder.

"Talkative," George muttered.

"Viktor doesn't have much patience for speech," Hope hummed agreeably, dragging him into the warmth of the inn in time to call over to the barmaid, "Nellie, switch those Firewhiskys to Gillywaters and add three, would you? These _morons_ are flying later."

" _Hey,_ now—!" Fred complained but complied when Hope arched an eyebrow, conceding defeat as Hermione blushingly greeted Viktor. But he noticed when she begged off eating while the others tucked into their fish and chips, George only able to persuade her to swallow a few chips, sipping just barely at her Gillywater. She was starting to remind him of how she'd looked at eleven, thin and in need of food.

Oliver was looking well, at least, Hope hadn't heard too much from him since he joined Puddlemere United. He'd broken up with Katie briefly, but Hope knew that they'd been back together since August and he'd gone to see her when she was in the hospital.

"All right," she said once Hermione had murmured a "Muffliato". "You all know the plan, I'm not going over it again in public, regardless of spells in place." Hope was nothing if not paranoid. "No one has to go any farther than wish, we're just the decoys and being the decoy isn't exactly safe or fun." Hope knew all too well about being the target. "There's Death Eaters following the train and I intend to start a tally."

There were grim murmurs of assent and Hermione gave a hard nod.

Fred had never thought of Hope the way George had, she was another partner in crime, a fiery _blaze_ threatening to consume everything in sight, but the eyes that had once been bright were hard and sharp, her skin was littered with scars she'd carved herself…and there was something about the way she held herself now, something almost regal with the harshness only a warrior could possess.

He gave her a wide-toothed grin and Hope's mouth twitched even as George frowned beside her. He'd follow her into the fire, but he'd try to make it burn less; that was the kind of man George was.

"If they give chase, _split up,"_ Hope added. "I'm taking Hermione by side-along in the bike, we'll be a bigger target, but you're all good enough at flying that they'll probably try to bring you down too."

"Big surprise," Alicia muttered, quickly shushed by Katie. Cho's mouth twisted.

"Shoot to kill, _no mercy_. There's no such thing as playing fair in war, or we wouldn't be doing this for the second time." Maybe Lily and James Potter wouldn't have died playing Dumbledore's game. Maybe Sirius wouldn't have died that night in the Department of Mysteries.

But Hope couldn't live on maybes. And she knew that nobody smart played fair, Voldemort certainly wouldn't be; so, neither would she.

"To drawing the fire," Fred said boldly, holding out his glass and Hope snorted, clicking hers against it and the others, even as Hermione huffed a "That's really not the _best way to toast—"_

Hope squeezed George's hand, hard, under the table.

* * *

They'd been at a loose follow for five hours and George's butt was starting to get seriously numb. He couldn't even see Hope, she was to the left and slightly above, the puttering of her engine silenced so as not to give her away.

"You're too tense." Fred was hovering at his left, which was a change of pace; normally it was George hovering at Fred's side. " _Loosen up."_

"We're about to ambush some Death Eaters," George pointed out. "How are you _not_ tense?"

"My girl's waiting for me at home," Fred winked like it wasn't an act. Like Angelina wasn't tugging on her dozens of plaits in worry. Like she didn't have healing potions and bandages at the ready.

But Fred was good at putting on a face while George's concern shone bright as day.

George huffed in annoyance. His own wasn't too far from him, and it was something else when the person you loved most was close to death, one way or the other.

"She's very sick," he said finally, with a heavy sigh, watching the train in the distance and Fred didn't look up from him.

"I know," he said, making his twin look to him sharply. "Angie thought she was looking unwell for a while, I know Mum thought, obviously, pregnancy—" George scoffed and Fred waved a hand. "Yeah, _exactly_ , I mean why would you be shagging when she was literally so distraught over Sirius? And then there was everything going on at school, so when would you have the time to do more than snog?"

The tips of George's ears reddened. They'd discussed it once, a chance conversation while George was considering a picture of Hope as a baby, cradled in her parents' arms. Hope had said she might one day consider having children, if she knew they would be safe and far from the public eye. A mirror had once made her entertain the idea of motherhood, but she was still at the point where she wasn't ready for the burden (and joy, he supposed) of children, still technically a child herself (an excuse Mum used in arguments that Hope didn't appreciate).

"Wait— _have you—?"_ Fred's eyebrows rose high in astonishment and George threw a baleful glare his way, making Fred bare a grin. Fred knew him best, but George also didn't carry tales about his snogging game, not like Fred did.

Angelina thought it amusing when Fred bragged, but so did Hope when she caught George watching her across the room, shaking her hair off one shoulder and giving him a very direct smirk that had him forcefully swallowing him pumpkin juice, pretending his blush was from choking on it.

Different strokes for different folks, and all that.

Hope and George were never a very… _loud_ couple, so to speak. They held hands, occasionally kissed in public, but not like Fred and Angelina or Ron and Hermione or even Ginny and Seamus.

He glanced in her direction, but, again, she was impossible to find. So were Oliver and Alicia and Cho, and Viktor and Katie (Hope had been pretty adamant about them operating in pairs, except for the one trio, since they were an odd number), and it was already pretty cloudy.

"She's using her Omnioculars," Fred offered conversationally, "it looks like she and Hermione are having an argument."

George looked to him in surprise.

"You're a few feet off," Fred shrugged, "they're pretty hard to see—"

" _Dive!"_ came a sudden roar, and Fred and George obeyed without a thought, ducking under a spray of violent green.

George didn't chance a look towards his brother, let alone his girlfriend, Hope had made that very clear before they'd taken off, focus on yourself and pray your partner does the same, he was too preoccupied with doing a complicated barrel roll, a jet of green missing him by inches, firing off his own curses in rapid succession.

" _Bombarda!"_ Red collided with a figure in black, their ribcage blowing apart in a haze of red. Hope did always have a violent streak.

" _Confringo!"_

" _Crucio!"_

A girl screamed, but George couldn't discern who it was, but there was no mistaking the wrathful voice of Hermione Granger calling out " _Avada Kedavra!"_

" _Scatter!"_ came Hope's roar, the engine of her motorbike broke through her since spell, and she shot off in the direction of the lights of civilization.

"That's her!"

" _Potter!"_

There were times when George _hated_ that damn motorbike. Everyone knew she had it, their side and Voldemort's. Remus had once suggested -with a great deal of insistence- that she stop riding it so publicly, as it was becoming as much of a symbol of Hope Potter as the scar on her brow. The resulting row had shaken their flat and Hope had refused to speak with Remus for a week afterwards.

Hope loved it and coveted it, the last thing that Sirius had given her and taught her to love and drive with painstaking patience, and George would've never asked her to give up something of Sirius', but it was a target like no other.

Oliver shouted something and George twisted in time to see a hooded figure point a wand at him, close enough that hooked nose, sallow skin, and dark curtain of hair that George was so familiar with as he'd sneered over his potions, unimpressed with their perfection, marking him down for no reason.

He tried to dive to the side, out of the way of the spell, but he didn't quite make it, searing white-hot pain hitting the edge of his face, colliding with his ear. The pain was enough that it made him pitch forward over his broom and then he was in free-fall, and that was the last thing he knew.

* * *

Hope couldn't think about what was going on back in the sky. She and Hermione had a tail on them and maybe leading them into Muggle London wasn't the _best_ plan, but, as it was, Hope's options were limited.

" _Hold on tight!"_ she snapped to Hermione. "We're gonna hit the ground hard!"

Hermione's grip on her wand was white-knuckled, and she kept one hand tight on sidecar. "Move left!"

A Killing Curse missed Hope by mere inches and the motorbike painfully jolted as it hit the road; Hope didn't bother with obeying the rules of the road, opting to drive straight between both lanes.

" _Stupefy!"_ Hermione threw over her shoulder and one of the caped figures tumbled off his broomstick, a car colliding painfully into him.

Hope dearly hoped it had killed him, but the next one gave her trouble, blowing out the tires on a truck in front of her.

" _Fuck!"_ Hope veered off into oncoming traffic while the Death Eater cursed cars out of their way.

"Are you _trying_ to get us killed?!" Hermione screamed, firing another curse, missing them by a hair.

"My driving's the only thing keeping us alive!" Hope fired back. "Blow up the broom!"

There was a sickening crack as it exploded underneath him. Hope caught sight of the body crunched beneath a bus as it rolled over it. The invisibility button was shaky at best, but Hope pressed it and took to flight until she could get to a small side road, parking in a dark alley, trying to regulate her breathing while Hermione stumbled out of the sidecar to vomit onto the ground.

"Do you think they're all right?" Hermione rasped finally. "I think-I think someone _fell_ as we were leaving…"

Hope closed her eyes and tried not to think about it being any of them, least of all George… _please not George._

She opened her eyes suddenly, feeling unbelievably like she was being watched, and it wasn't a comfortable feeling, just one she was quite familiar with.

It was growing colder and it almost made her think of the dementors, but it felt darker and more dangerous. And old, _so very old._

She couldn't help but tense, her hand reaching behind her to where Sirius' knife was holstered at the small of her back.

" _ **Thanatos**_ ," a craggy voice whispered in the wind, a faint cackle echoing through the air, making Hope twist around violently in apprehension, but it was impossible to tell where it was coming from and the poor lighting of the alley made it worse.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, only quieting as Hope pressed a finger to her lips.

" _ **Thanatos**_ ," the voice rose in wrath and anger and then Hope saw it.

It was _terrifying._

It was as if made solidly of black ash with dark rippling hair and eyes pale and completely grey and stretched. Fingers sharpened into deadly claws and teeth jagged and yellow bared from crumbling lips. It flitted through the air though it had no wings, and it shot forward with a roar, slashing out a claw.

Hope saw the spray of blood before she felt it, and then she was clutching and choking wetly on her own blood, slicing her knife out and into its eye, making it scream and roar with pain even as she fell.

If this ended up being the thing that killed her three weeks too early, Hope was gonna be _pissed._

* * *

 **AN: The whole reason I wrote this chapter was for the motorbike chase, I won't lie. Hope the Geope was good!**

 **As always: please review!**


	5. Safety's Gone

**Stand Tall: Chapter Five: Safety's Gone**

 **AN: George is losing his ear again, yes, I'm a fan of scarring my characters, which might've been obvious, I realize.**

 **Some of this is reused, but things are changing :)**

* * *

Whatever it was, it had gone, leaving Hope clutching at her throat, feeling like something was burning through her veins as the blood poured.

" _Hope!"_

Hermione pulled what looked like a hand towel out of the small beaded bag that she'd charmed to hell and back and filled it with everything she and Hope possessed before leaving Hogwarts, and pressed it hard against Hope's throat.

She winced painfully, looking down at her hands to see something black mixing with the crimson staining her hands. _Figures_ she'd be dealing with poison on top of nearly getting her throat ripped out.

And she could feel it, _burning, burning, burning_ through her.

 _Get it out, get it out!_

She drew a shaky rune on the back of her hand in the blood that was already wet there. She raised it to the opposite side of her neck. " _ **Purge,"**_ she warbled thickly and the burning grew more pronounced, searing through her like she was on fire.

Her eyes rolled back and she fainted. She wasn't sure how much time passed, but the next thing she knew, Hermione was lightly tapping her check and heatedly murmuring " _Hope!"_

"Mm?" Hope mumbled, her throat aching something fierce. "Am I dead?"

Hermione moaned in relief. "Not yet."

"Cheers," Hope hissed Hermione pressed down a bit more firmly on her neck. "Hallam Street, get me to Hallam."

"We need to get somewhere safe to look at your neck," Hermione countered and Hope squeezed her hand.

"Hallam Street _is_ safe," Hope's voice was weak, "The Feywild Café."

Hermione looked like she wanted to argue, but between the pair of them, they were wearing at least a pint of Hope's blood. They were going to look a sight, that much she knew, but Hope had that steely look in her eye that brooked no argument.

She shrunk the motorbike and stuck it back in her beaded bag and helped Hope stand, sliding her knife back into its holster. Then she twisted on her heel and disapparated.

Ten minutes later and she was still right because so many people were giving them odd looks. "The door's right next to you," Hope intoned and Hermione jerked them to a stop, making Hope wince fiercely.

There was enough space for a small café, but the place she was looking at was broken down, decrepit, and clearly hadn't been used in decades; people were walking past it like it wasn't there.

She gave Hope a look. "Trust me," Hope said, and Hermione seized the handle and pushed it in, dragging Hope with her and then she had to gape. There was something unbelievably _wild_ about it, like someone had tried to combine a modern café with the outdoors. The walls were painted like a glorious mural of wilderness and there were plants everywhere and one woman was flipping through a notepad, wearing a waitress uniform, yet seeming quite a part of the surroundings.

She looked up, initially pleased and then she took in Hope's condition and the color fled from her face.

"Sylvar," Hope said and it took Hermione a moment to realize it was the woman's name, " _help."_

She was quick, darting around the counter to take Hope's other arm. "This way, back room." She had a lilting accent that clearly said she wasn't from around there, but Hermione couldn't quite place it. And she was strong, practically lifting Hope towards the end.

"Shove everything off that desk," Sylvar barked to Hermione, who briefly released Hope to knock everything to the floor, Sylvar hoisting Hope onto it with relative ease, pulling back the towel.

" _Shit,"_ Sylvar muttered, "what Otherworldly creature did you run into this time?"

Hermione's brow furrowed in confusion and Hope's mouth twisted in amusement. "I picked a fight with the Mirror Lady," she said thickly.

Sylvar laughed, like it was an inside joke Hermione didn't know, pulling a kit out from a cabinet. "I haven't heard you talk about the Mirror Lady in _years!"_

Hermione felt quite uncomfortable, like an outsider looking into what Hope's life was without her or Ron or even George or Dean…and this woman spoke with and touched Hope so familiarly. Hope who _shied_ away from touching and being touched by those she was unfamiliar with; Hermione remembered well how little she'd liked Lockhart or Bagman holding onto her for longer than necessary, yet sank into George's comforting hand at her back.

"Nath doesn't like me talking about the Mirror Lady," Hope mumbled, wincing when Sylvar pulled the towel away completely and Hermione swallowed thickly at the gashes still oozing blood, but less than had been pouring earlier. "Says she's bad luck."

Sylvar huffed in annoyance before turning back to Hermione and she couldn't help but be struck by how old her eyes were. "Hermione, right? The one that consults the library when in dire need and isn't afraid to speak her mind?"

Hermione's cheeks flushed brightly. "Yes, ma'am."

"There's a door on the right, a bathroom. Why don't you get yourself cleaned up while I work on the little shadow, here?" There was a sort of fondness there, under the worry.

Hermione felt a little befuddled by the pet name that Hope answered to with ease. "Hope?"

"I'll be all right," Hope said, though looking a bit ill at the sight of the needle and thread Sylvar, so Hermione left her, finding the bathroom, locking the door and sitting heavily on the toilet lid, looking down at the red on her hands, staining her sleeves at the front of her shirt.

Hope's blood.

It made her want to vomit again, but there was nothing left.

"Pull yourself _together,"_ Hermione whispered, moving to the sink and beginning to scrub diligently before casting ' _Scourgify_ ' on her clothes. Then she splashed water in her face for good measure, taking a calming breath, before leaving the bathroom quietly, intending to rush back into the room with Hope, but pausing at voices.

"—I have no magic, so you'll just have to make do with stitches," Sylvar told Hope, "but, I think the Lord has said you don't much like magic being used on you."

"Not particularly," Hope replied with strain, "it feels like… _worms_ writhing under my skin, unnatural and uncomfortable."

"Hm," Sylvar hummed, "where I'm from, magic is a gift that you must pray for or make a deal with a deity for…this inherited magic is _strange_ , but I am often a stranger in a strange land."

Hope was quiet for a long time, apart from the occasional hiss. "I felt like that too…sometimes I still do." She gave a faint chuckle. "Just when I thought I knew who I was, I found out how little it was I actually knew."

"You will learn, do not fear." Sylvar seemed to Hermione, wise beyond her years. "You think your time is limited, but it is endless. You have the blood of god running through your veins and another who watches you from beyond the mirrors, in every reflection."

" _Mirror Lady?"_ Hope asked bemused. "Ow!"

" _Sorry,_ sorry…the Mirror Lady and the Lord have an old… _rivalry,_ shall we say…endlessly toiling and baring their teeth and hitting each other where it hurts…like here—"

Hermione peeked her head around the corner to see Sylvar done with the stitches and gently cleaning the slightly dried blood around the wounds, only to poke the side of her head harshly.

" _Ow!"_ Hope complained again.

"There's a patch on your memory, crudely done, made in haste." Sylvar's eyes narrowed slightly, her fingers probing gently at the spot.

"Can you remove it?" Hope asked, startled at the prospect, and Sylvar shook her head.

"No, it's too powerful, tethered to your humanity...it's covering something painful, even before your memories began...made by your mother, as luck would have it...she must've been truly _desperate_ to resort to such an act."

"My _mother?"_ Hope's eyes were wide. "Why?"

"I can't say for certain," Sylvar admitted. "Memory patches are made for a lot of reasons, but I suspect this one is hiding why the Mirror Lady can't reach you. A warlock may be capable of a memory patch, but only a god can tie it to the humanity of its bearer."

Hope scowled suddenly, knowing where she was going. "Whose side are you on?"

Sylvar's smile was soft and utterly fond. "Yours, luv."

"Nath wouldn't do that," her voice was sour and pained. "He _loves_ me. He's like my _father."_

Sylvar sighed. "You're allowed to have more than one parent, luv, now let me put a bandage over that and get you something warm to drink."

So, five minutes later, Hope was settled with a mug in her hands and one in Hermione's, and Hermione felt so uncomfortable.

"All the adults in my life are manipulators is what I'm getting from this," Hope muttered, drinking her tea quietly. "Nath…I expected _better_ from him."

"Nath…" Hermione said the name quietly. "He was the man you called on the mobile at Hogwarts, the one you said had been enchanted by a god?"

Hope hummed in agreement. "He's an EMT, he was the one that saved my life when I was in that accident at ten…he stuck around and told me stories. _Well_ …he stuck around for years, really," she acquiesced, looking around the café. "I came here before I met him, actually. Sylvar was the one that taught me how to cook, how to write short hand, and a few curses in her tongue to use on the Dursleys." She smirked. "They never liked that…but Nathaniel Lord, he was the _most_ important thing in my life before I went to Hogwarts, in some ways he still is, but its _different_ now, since I know his real name is Thanatos and we're actually related."

"You sound bitter."

Hope sighed. "About the secrets and lies, but I'm being a hypocrite, given the nature of the Resistance…my issues with him are a problem for another time." It was hard to hate someone when you loved them so much. That had always made fighting with Sirius difficult.

And she missed Sirius so much, with a pain mixed with guilt.

(She'd known without a shadow of a doubt when Cedric would die, when Quirrell would die, when even Dumbledore's life was drawing to a close…but not Sirius, that one had taken her by complete surprise and she very much doubted she'd ever recover from it.)

"… _the blaze seems to be growing with each minute as first responders attempt to get the fire under control…"_

Hope leaned slightly to see the image on the screen in the corner and Hermione twisted to get a look.

"— _according to neighbors, the fire started so suddenly, without warning. We're still speculating on the cause or even if the inhabitants of Number Four, Privet Drive, were even within the house when the fire began, but the house has been completely overtaken—"_

Hope's expression was unreadable. "Has Ron made contact yet?"

The mobile Hermione had in her back pocket hadn't buzzed, and worry for her boyfriend was growing. "No…but they might not be in range…we'd have better luck with the twins, I think." She'd grown up with the Weasley Twins in her periphery…Hermione hoped dearly that they were all right.

Hope took out her mobile and made a call.

* * *

Fred heard the screams first, and for a moment he thought the worst, then he realized it was his mother as she threw open the door, casting light in the darkness and then Bill was at his side, helping him shoulder the dead weight that was his twin.

 _Dead weight_. Fred shouldn't have used that word. George was _alive_ and he was _staying that way._

This wasn't the plan. They should've gone back to the flat, but he didn't have the time to think, George had been falling and losing so much blood…it had taken everything he'd had _just_ to get him to the Burrow.

"My boy!" Mum's voice shook with sobs and Fred didn't have the chance to see what a gathering there was at the house until he and Bill deposited George carefully on the couch. Seeing his twin's face in the light made it more horrifying.

His left side of his neck was slick with his blood and his ear was gone, save for some small part of the outer ear that seemed to have been spared, with a few deep cuts slicing into his cheek. They would scar, Fred just knew it.

All that could be seen of George's eyes were the slivers of white, his skin ashen.

Fred swallowed thickly, trying not to look at it, even as Dad jostled him slightly out of the way to kneel down with Mum, taking George's limp hand.

"Is he even alive?" someone murmured and Fred reared back his head to say something harsh when Fleur appeared suddenly at his side, beautiful and pale and hard-faced.

"Fred," she said in her throaty voice, "Angelina? Do you—?"

"Yeah, call her," Fred said thickly. "She's at my place…tell her George is injured."

She nodded seriously and left the room, leaving Fred with what appeared to be a good portion of the remaining Order of the Phoenix that weren't Weasleys: Mad-Eye Moody, Tonks, and Remus Lupin.

Bill gripped his arm when he swayed dangerously. "What happened?"

Fred blinked a few times to right himself. "Ron and Ginny?" he asked.

Bill shared a glance with Charlie. "No sign of them. They weren't on the train. A _lot of kids_ weren't on the train." But he knew that, he'd listened to the plan, silently, with Fleur at his side, both uneasy. "If that was a spell Hope cast…and she was seriously injured…"

"Can't think about that," Fred said, eyes flicking towards George, watching Mum trying to clean the wound, but Angelina would know better, she was trained. "We made it about five hours in before they attacked us—"

"Who attacked you, boy?" Moody grunted, stomping forward, his eye whizzing around in an unnerving manner.

"Death Eaters," Fred snapped. "Technically, _we_ were tailing _them_ —"

"Of all the stupid and foolish things, _Frederick Gideon Weasley_!" Mum snapped and Fred winced at the use of his full name. But he still stubbornly glowered.

"We were playing decoy, we knew what we were getting into," he fired back. "Hope and Hermione would've gone alone and they only asked for volunteers—"

"Oh, this was _Hope's_ idea?" There was something dangerous flashing in Mum's. He hadn't really noticed it, but she hadn't been as favorable towards Hope lately, probably since Ron's poisoning. George had noticed, though, _George always noticed things Fred didn't_ , he thought bitterly. And Hope and George had taken to sitting further away during family dinners.

" _No_ ," Charlie seemed fairly taken aback by her hyper-fixation on Hope, "it was a combined effort. Ron and Hermione were involved."

And weren't they always involved?

"What _happened?"_ Bill pressed.

Fred tried to gather his thoughts. "We fought, Hope and Hermione booked it to London—"

"They ran off and left you?" Remus' amber eyes were wide and startled at the prospect; Hope was very much a 'no man left behind' kind of person.

"No," Fred said with a shard of ice in his throat that he thought about stabbing others with in the back with. Merlin, was this what being Hope was like? "They broke off with two on their tail, and we did the same, but I had to worry about George, he'd fallen off his broom—"

There was a sudden yelp and a "Apologies for the intrusion" that made so many wands whirl on the speaker.

Angelina was faintly disoriented, her bag in one hand and clutching the stranger's hand in the other. Fred balked at Hope's mildly unimpressed expression on a man he'd never seen before.

The man smiled in the same way Hope bared her teeth, and clearly, she'd borrowed bits of his appearance before they'd gone flying; the warm cheeks, the bronze hair, the impossibly dark eyes.

Angelina's eyes flashed to Fred, relief clear when he shook him head, but then the color fled from her cheeks at George lying on the couch.

" _Move_ ," she barked swiftly, setting down her bag and pulling out her wand.

Fred scrutinized the man. "You're Nath, right? George described you pretty well."

Nath blinked in surprise. "I only met him once…what did he say?" He was unperturbed by the wands still pointed at him.

"He said you were hot," Fred informed him bluntly, making Nath throw his head back and laugh, making the Order members consider each other uneasily.

"He has better eyes than I gave him credit for," Nath mused, holding out a hand and Fred shook it once. "It's true, I met him as Nathaniel Lord, and some days it's a name I still prefer, but I am the god Thanatos, the god of _death."_

Fred felt his heart stop and he situated himself in front of his twin. "If you've come for him, get ready for a _fight!"_ His fists were balled, his eyes fiery; Fred would fight a god tooth and nail for George.

Nath wore an amused look, like Fred was a particularly clever child, but still a child, to be patted on the top of the head and sent on his way.

"I think you're rather like her," he mused, "that child of mine. You are both beings of _fire."_ He pulled out a mobile from within his jacket, pressed a button and then another, so they could all hear distant ringing, and then— _"You and I are gonna have fucking words, old man."_

It was grainy but it was her. Fred sagged in relief. He could see Remus pressing a shaking hand against his face.

"About what, dearest?" Nath asked mildly.

" _Well, first off, for putting a patch on someone's memory without their consent, motherfu—Hermione, I'm just saying it how it is."_

Fred frowned, looking to Nath. _He'd put a patch on her memory?_

"Tell Sylvar I'm displeased," Nath said with a note of warning and Fred could just hear the glower.

" _You don't get to threaten her because she noticed something and told me about it,"_ Hope snarled viciously, _"Grow some balls, Nath, by Hades."_

Now there was something almost comical of Hope Potter, the _Girl-Who-Lived_ , telling _the god of death itself_ to 'grow some balls'.

" _Some friends of yours tried to rip out my throat, by the way, left me bleeding out in an alley—"_

"Bleeding out?" Tonks demanded. "Are you all right?"

Hope refused to answer that. _"Where's Fred and George?"_ The unease was clear to pick out.

"I'm here," Fred said immediately, "we're both alive, but, Hope, George, he's lost an ear and…" He swallowed hard. "Angie's doing her best."

" _An ear?"_ a weak voice was clear on the other end that could only be Hermione. _"What about everyone else? No names!"_

Fred's mouth twitched faintly. "Minor cuts and bruises, I think, we all split up…Hope, Ron and Ginny aren't home yet."

The fear had set in. Had everything they'd done been for nothing.

" _They're alive,"_ Hope's voice came after a long-stilted moment. " _If they were dead, I would know it."_

And right on cue, there was a loud crack and a few moments later, Ron and Ginny were stumbling through the door, startled by the sheer number of people in their sitting room.

" _George!"_ Ginny rushed forward; her freckles stark white as she fell to her knees beside her brother.

" _Nath, take me off speaker and give me to Ron_ ," Hope snapped and Ron accepted the mobile with ease.

"Yeah, we're all right," he said into it. "Mione, you okay?...What the ruddy _hell?..._ But you're both okay?... _Shit."_ He pressed a hand to his face. "Are they dead?"

Everyone listened in, on-edge. "…yeah, I know Hermione doesn't like it, but it's safer than dead…sounds like you lost a lot of blood, Hope, when I say be careful, I _mean_ it." His eyes were sharp. "I'm _serious_ …I love you guys, too…I'll call you when its safe, okay? Bye."

He handed the mobile back to Nath. "Thanks."

Nath tipped an imaginary hat to Ron. "I'll be seeing you all." He bared his teeth into a grim smile. "One way or another."

"Where's Potter, Weasley?" Moody demanded. "Who's dead?"

"Couldn't tell you," Ron replied dryly, "I wasn't involved in that part of the plan."

And he could tell that Moody didn't know if he was pissed or had grudging respect for him.

"The Dursleys are probably dead, though," Ron shrugged, "apparently Number Four went up in smoke."

* * *

"Is she all right?" Ron smoothed his girlfriend's fringe away from her face as he sat on the edge of her bed, taking the cup Hope handed him.

He'd only snuck away close to eleven, and by that time, Hope and Hermione had managed to make it from the Feywild Café to her parents place to Obliviate them of her entire existence, and then make it to the hotel room they'd bought out for a month -to be on the safe side-, where she'd cried herself to sleep.

"She's been better, I think," Hope muttered, "I think the idea that her parents won't ever know who she is again…I think that really broke her. She cried for hours." Reversing that spell…it was difficult and it hardly ever worked. It was the last option for Hermione, but that wasn't to say it didn't do the job. It did it _far too well._

Ron took a drink and coughed. "Is this _Firewhisky?"_

Hope winked, downing hers. "How goes it at the Burrow?"

"Well, Moody's somewhere between pissed and impressed with you, but I think that's usual for him. The Order's driving themselves mad trying to find you…they actually are staking out Grimmauld Place since they can't get in anymore…something about you upping the protections?" He noticed Hope's smirk.

"We're going to need to sack it and see if it has anything we might need," Hope muttered to herself, "books, potions, anything that could be useful…then we need to check out Pithos…"

Ron snorted. "So, the plan's changed a bit, hasn't it?"

"Not _totally,_ we knew we'd have to get things ready before the Resistance is comes together again." Hope added tea to her cup this time and Ron downed his Firewhiskey and offered her his cup as well. "I honestly wasn't expecting them to attack the Dursleys right away, though…any word on that yet?"

"No survivors," Ron told her flatly, and Hope nodded, she'd been bracing for it for hours, expected it, but yet…

"Is it bad that I don't really feel anything?" she asked him carefully.

"Well, I'd feel poorly about a family that kept me in a cupboard under the stairs for eleven years," Ron conceded, "we won't think less of you, if that's what you're asking."

"Thanks," Hope muttered before swallowing thickly. "How's George? How…how bad is it?"

Ron heaved a heavy sigh. That had been rough, convincing Fred to leave him at the Burrow for the night, as least to recover had been… _painful_ to watch. Fred and George were attached at the hip; Fred being on his own was hard to imagine. "He woke up a little while ago, asked about you, then went back to sleep. Angie says he's lost most of the outer ear but she thinks he might have some hearing left, but there's no way of knowing until he wakes up a bit more…George's tough, though."

Hope huffed, wiping at her eyes. "Yeah, _I know that."_ She picked up Sirius' knife and began sharpening it on her sharpening stone, which Ron knew she only did to keep herself busy.

Ron reached out a few fingers to tilt her head towards him to get a look at the bandage covering her throat. "That looks like it hurts."

"My anger's dulling the pain." Hope sniffed a few times. "Everyone else make it out with you?"

"As far as I saw," Ron amended, "we got off at different stops, but the train left without issue…I'm surprised they didn't report on so many kids missing from the train."

"Probably want to keep it quiet, like me using deadly spells," Hope conceded, looking out the window, unusually solemn.

"Mum had a few _choice_ words to say about you," Ron added, quieting his voice when Hermione shifted in her sleep. Hope rolled her eyes. "I guess she's pretty pissed about you roping us into a war we have no business fighting in." That was a direct quote.

Hope ground her teeth together. "I bet that's about George."

"Yeah," Ron sighed. "She's turned pretty nasty about all of us siding with you over the Order. I threatened to move out if she tried to keep me in the Burrow against my will; I'm seventeen, I can walk out _whenever I please_ …that one made her almost blow a fuse."

Hope frowned. "She hasn't been very… _nice_ about me lately."

"She's been a bitch, you mean," Ron replied archly.

"Your words, not mine."

"I noticed you and George sitting farther away," he added. He'd honestly thought it was so no one could hear what George was whispering into her ear. They'd seemed pretty cozy, with George's arm around her shoulder, leaning down to whisper in her ear and then leave her with a kiss on her neck that made her turn pink while Ron had mimed puking at her across the table, making her laugh.

George, always on board to make his brother uncomfortable, had thrown him a look and then caught her lips in a kiss that had made Ron groan loudly.

"Yeah, she said a few snide things and made an assumption that I didn't appreciate." Hope's grip tightened on her knife. "George being more affectionate with me lately has _nothing_ to do with if I may or may not be pregnant, which _I'm not._ George is _very_ affectionate man." She turned pink as Ron gave her a sly look.

"Yeah, I remember how affectionate he was." Covering her with love bites every chance he could.

Hope coughed politely. "She seems like she's being more…over the top than I remember, either way, or has she always been and I just haven't noticed?"

"Eh." Ron made a 'so-so' gesture. "She coddles and stifles us; I can't deny that. It was nicer when we were kids, but now it's just _overbearing_ …and Percy and Ginny were always her favorites, but now Percy's gone and Ginny's more like you -reckless and not willing to follow any of the rules-…she pushed the Twins aside a lot for Percy and can't even tell the difference between the two of them, which might be part of the reason they don't get on as well with her as they do with Dad."

Hope pursed her lips. "If it's easier for you to stay, Hermione and I can handle the preparations front."

"No, I _need_ to get out of the house," Ron grimaced, "there's only so much I can take…when did you want to tackle Grimmauld Place?"

"Give it a few days…maybe by then things will have calmed down a little, but we can go through my and Hermione's things and figure out what we should keep with us and throw out," Hope considered thoughtfully. "We'll be laying low for now, I think."

"Probably the smartest idea," Ron admitted and Hope smiled faintly, clicking their mugs together, before looking through the window again, seeing the faintest outline of a woman with dark eyes that she'd seen less and less as she got older.

But she blinked and the Mirror Lady was gone.

"Get some sleep, Hope." Ron stood, leaning down to kiss her temple lightly. "I'll be back in the morning." He squeezed her side and Hope leaned into it briefly. "I'll give you some George updates, too."

Hope's mouth twisted. "Stay safe, Ron."

"I'll do my best."

And that was all Hope asked for.

* * *

 **AN: Did I steal a few lines from The Magicians? Yeah, get used to that.**

 **Nath and the Mirror Lady's relationship is as interesting as it is destructive, we'll touch on her later, but she's a complex and complicated lady, and very dangerous, which is why Nath is so leery of her; ironic, given who he is.**

 **As always: please review!**


	6. Monsters Abound

**Stand Tall: Chapter Six: Monsters Abound**

 **AN: I need to clarify. I made up Mirror Lady, she's not in any storybook you'll find. I confused someone, so I thought I'd let you all know.**

* * *

There was a hand stroking through her hair and Hope felt drowsy, like her bones were made of lead. She liked it when George ran his fingers through her hair, curling a lock of her hair around his finger with a glow in his eyes and a " _Did you think I was leaving without a goodbye kiss, Potter_?" but this was different.

Hope was curved into the softest pillow and mattress on the planet and she _never_ wanted to leave. She didn't know what month it was, or what day, or what _hour_ , and she didn't _care_ if she never had to leave ever again.

And the fingers running through her hair were soft and gentle. A mother's touch.

She remembered countless nights where she'd cried herself to sleep -silently, because the Dursleys would _never_ have stood for her noise- in that little cupboard and fallen asleep to that gentle touch, to the press of lips to her hair and the whisper of " _Rest well, my dear heart"._

Hope would know that voice in life and in death and there had been years that she had thought it her mother, but she'd heard Lily Potter's voice before, terrified as she begged for her daughter's life…and Mirror Lady had a deeper voice with a lilting tone that you'd hear singing in an eerie forest in the dead of night.

"I miss you," Hope whispered.

"I know," came the returning whisper. "But I am always here, I am always watching."

Hope swallowed thickly, trying to keep from falling asleep -or was it awake since she was already asleep? Hope was so confused. "Will it hurt?" she asked finally. "Ripping out my magic?"

The hand in hair stilled briefly. "It will be _absolute agony,"_ Mirror Lady said in rawest voice Hope had ever heard. "But the freedom you will feel with it gone is indescribable…and I will be there, _waiting for you."_

Hope closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she was lying in her bed in the hotel room, breathing in and out heavily, pressing a hand over her eyes before looking down at her right arm. She sat up with a loud creak and Hermione mumbled out a tired "Hope?"

Hope flipped on the light at the bedside, fingers fumbling as she pulled off the brace that had been invisible against her skin until she undid the straps. " _Hope?"_

Her hand trembled, her whole arm shook, the blackness that had covered two fingers had overtaken a third and was stretching over her palm. She tightened her hand into a fist and gritted her teeth as Hermione came around the bed, unsurprised but concerned.

"I thought it was getting better," she said quietly, kneeling in front of Hope as she sat on the edge of the bed trying to stave off the tremors that the brace had suppressed the entire day.

"More like _worse,"_ Hope muttered, thinking back to that night, to that _horrible_ night. Hope's two fingers had brushed against the Veil, against the gateway between mortal and something else, and that had consequences.

She hadn't realized it until later, not even considering how off her aim had been that night, but the tremors that shook through her arm that night weren't natural or normal, and she'd known that for a while. Hermione had been upset, Ron had been startled, but it wasn't something Hope had ever wanted people to know about it. Besides, it hadn't been a big deal at the time, just a few tremors, nothing to worry about. Hermione had been the one to get her the arm brace and enchant it to suppress the tremors, camouflaging to her skin; Hope had been having such a terrible time at that point that she'd choked up.

Then it got bad enough for George to notice. The alternating periods of fever and coughing fits and tremors had been rather obvious after they started living together. Hope had spent the whole year in a haze of illness and by some miracle, no one outside those three had noticed; Hope personally blamed that on the pepper-up potion she'd been downing by the bucket.

Maybe she shouldn't have told him about her approaching death date…he _worried_ so much. And it wasn't like Hope didn't have a plan, maybe not a _great_ one, but something was better than nothing. As it was, Hope was more worried about that him and his ear, even looking at her violently tremoring arm.

It used to last for seconds and then for minutes and this time, Hope struggled with the tremors for a quarter of an hour until they finally abated slightly and she felt like she could breathe again. They'd start up again in a few minutes, the tremor spell wasn't yet done.

"Hope?" Hermione touched the hand that had shaken so much. "Maybe you need to let a healer look at your arm…it's been a year and if its only getting _worse…"_

Her hand spasmed at the thought. "I'm fine," she bit out the usual answer, "it's nothing I can't handle." She couldn't tell her or Ron about her plan, they'd be horrified.

Hermione gave her a look full of doubt. " _Hope,"_ she pressed, "these kinds of…these kinds of tremors? They're getting to be something you can't handle…you _need_ treatment."

Hope bit back a harsh laugh at that. She rubbed her fingers together, the ones that had breached the Veil before she'd been pulled back, the ones blackened. "Hermione," she almost sighed, "this isn't something that can be fixed by a healer or a doctor or anything else… _it can't be fixed_. I touched something godly, this is my consequence."

Hermione ground her teeth together, wanting to reply, wanting to counter, but something stalled her. Hope had always had a healthy love of the classical myths and occasionally swore by them ("Sweet Persephone!" "By Hades, kill me now!") but Hermione had never quite believed her about what she said she'd seen when she'd flatlined after Dudley pushed her in front of a car at ten, about the eyes she'd seen beyond the Veil…it seemed too… _unlikely_. Magic, Hermione could believe, but myth? Somehow it was too much for her mind to comprehend. Even Nath…he didn't seem quite as godly as Hope had described him.

It was hard to believe, but she couldn't deny that there had always been…something _strange_ about Hope, who seemed to prefer death-defying acts and near-death experiences and walked away from both without too much difficulty. And predicting death and being particularly on point about it…

"Go back to bed, Hermione," Hope said to her, standing and grabbing a book from beside her. "I'll just wait for the storm to pass."

Hermione wanted to argue, but Hope patted her arm as she passed her, the beginnings of another tremor spell winding down the arm once more. Hope was always the more stubborn of the three of them…and this wasn't something Hermione could run to get a professor for, it was too late for that now. This wasn't a Firebolt that might be hexed by a supposed wanted criminal, this was Hope's health, and ultimately, it was her choice to do or do not do anything about it.

Even if Hermione didn't agree, she'd respect it.

Trust went both ways.

* * *

Hope rubbed at her face with the hand that had finally stopped shaking, before grasping at the door to the bathroom, not really looking where she was going but then she heard a "Hope? Gods, what happened to your _neck?"_

She blinked a few times owlishly, to look around and realize that she'd made her way back to what the Patil twins called 'the Neitherlands' and they were both looking at her in horror. They'd taken the easy way out, they knew, but there had been no need to hop on a train to London when their home was in another dimension.

That shit was _wild._

Hope looked down at her neck, as best as she could, realizing the bandage had come off her stitches. It wasn't a great look, Hope knew, but she was still alive, _so yay for that._

"I got attacked, it's not a big deal," Hope waved them off. "George lost an ear, I'm more worried about that." Ron had said he'd asked for her, said Fred had stood up to Nath for him (that one had wrenched at her heart), and Hope knew he wouldn't die -she could _feel it_ in her bones- but it didn't make her heart ache any less to know that now they both bore scars for her choices.

(He wouldn't agree with that, but it was how Hope felt)

Parvati sighed heavily, like she'd known, and Padma pressed a hand painfully for her mouth.

"It'll heal," Hope was unconcerned with more scars. Remembering the disagreement she'd had with Hermione before the fighting had started. "Actually, I have two questions for you two, something you might be able to help me with."

"Name it," Padma asked eagerly, while Parvati remained reserved, like she knew what Hope was going to ask. She'd become much quieter since the term's end, Hope noticed.

"Well, one was Hermione's idea," Hope couldn't very well claim credit for it, "do either of you know sign language so we can communicate with each other without revealing what we're saying to the other side?"

Padma's expression turned downright demonic and Parvati gave Hope a look that clearly read 'what have you done?'. "You've come to the right place!"

"What's the second one?" Parvati asked to stall Padma's excitement.

"Your magic was removed, you said," Hope said to Padma, as she was the one to explain everything to Hope. "Could you show me how you did it?"

Padma and Parvati shared a glance.

"We can remove your magic," Parvati said after a long moment, "but we can't destroy it, gods can destroy magical cores, that was the big issue with us when we had ours removed."

"That's why you became warlocks?" Hope asked, still not very familiar with the term, but Padma had explained it simply: warlocks got their powers through a pact with a deity while sorcerers inherited theirs from their bloodline. Once you got to the whole 'witch versus wizard' debate everything got a bit confusing.

"She made a deal with Varuna, who we're related to," Parvati jerked a thumb towards Padma, who beamed, "and I made a deal with Apollo. _They_ destroyed our respective magical cores in exchange for the deals we made."

But Hope was used to bad deals and she couldn't help but be uneasy at the idea.

"You don't have to make that kind of decision now," Padma added quickly, "removing your magic is a bigger issue…there's no way it won't hurt."

"I've been getting that impression," Hope remarked dryly. "And Nath's dodging my calls now, so I think my death date has been moved up." Death had never been a frightening prospect, but Hope had so much to put in place before her body grew cold, her heart still in her chest.

Parvati chewed on her lip. "The Lord of Shadows keeps many secrets," she said cryptically and Hope gave her a surprised look. "The danger you face has two sides, one in plain view, and one in the shadows. You're proof of the mergence of _opposite pantheons_ , that means the path that lies before you will be fraught with twists and turns that all lead back to one place…" She was reminding Hope of Trelawney in third year, eerily on point yet not totally there, like she was seeing something beyond Hope.

"Rome?" Hope offered helpfully.

Parvati didn't smile. "To the Castle With Seven Locks."

Hope crossed her arms, frowning, pulling slightly at her stitches. "The Castle With Seven Locks doesn't exist."

Parvati arched an eyebrow. "If Magic-Spinner _was real_ , if the Beast With No Name _was real,_ why can't the Castle With Seven Locks be real?"

"A person and a monster, I can believe, but a castle within a realm only reached through gateways rarely seen, on the _underside_ of that realm, bathed in darkness and death? If I believed in that I'd never sleep, Parvati."

Parvati gave a conceding half-shrug. "I'll give you that…but you know what people say…history became legend, legend became myth, and some things that should not have been forgotten _were lost."_

Hope considered her. "Is that why you snuck into the Mirror Room for Iolanthe Peverell's book?"

Parvati shot her twin a glower and Padma whistled to herself. "I wasn't aiming for Iolanthe's book, I was aiming for _Adelaide's."_

Hope blinked in surprise. "You didn't find it?"

"Maybe someone had it removed, or I just missed it." Parvati shrugged, looking uncomfortable, remembering her time in that room. "I won't go back into it, regardless…that _place_ …" She shuddered. "It messes with your head."

Padma cleared her throat, turning Hope's attention back to her. "Parv and I can perform the spell it takes to remove your magic, but it'll take _time;_ we're warlocks, we need the right circumstance…in your case, the right phase of the moon, the position of the Pleiades, and the location of the casting."

"Which should be in Greece," Parvati interjected. "She may be half-Celt, but the spell is going to affect her _godly side_ , and Thanatos is Greek, so to Greece we go."

"Half-Celt?" Hope asked in confusion, but neither heard her.

"That sounds like a terrible idea!" Padma gaped. "There's _monsters_ in Greece!"

"There's monsters _everywhere_ , Pads," Parvati retorted. "And they often take the face of men."

"I am a _lesbian_ for a _reason!"_

" _Oohkay,"_ Hope said awkwardly, forcing them to remember that she was in the room.

"It'll take a few days," the pair said as one, before glowering at each other, apparently liking it less when they spoke at the same time than Fred and George did.

"But! We can teach you sign language, _no problem_!" Padma added brightly, stage-whispering "Elder hates that they taught us that, too."

Hope laughed.

But when she left, Parvati left her with even more cryptic words.

"There are monsters everywhere, Hope. Deal with the ones before you, but do not forget the ones that linger in the shadows. They await your doubt, your _vulnerability_ …show them the _Seventh_ Shadow Weaver is just as strong as the _first_. Always be ready, because they will come. _He_ will come and he cannot be as easily killed as Tom Riddle."

The idea that killing Tom would be _easy_ compared to the Beast With No Name…but there had been something in Parvati's eyes, some pain and regret that Hope couldn't quite place. And her shoulders had trembled when Hope had given her a one-armed hug.

"Take care," Hope told her, giving them both a smile. "Call me when you're ready to kill me."

Only Padma laughed.

* * *

Hope was used to standing out in a crowd, but this time she made an effort to disappear. She darkened her hair to the color of brown that was Hermione's with eyes to match. Anyone would've thought they looked like sisters, which was the point. Hope's hair and eyes were as distinctive as her scar at this point.

They'd walked into Gringotts and walked out with all the gold, silver, and bronze that had been left in Hope's vault -the only one that she had access to- and every document that Gringotts had for her family. She wasn't sure if they'd be important, but she'd rather have them than leave them with Gringotts.

When they'd left Gringotts, half of the gold had been switched for Muggle pounds.

Hope and Hermione had been so paranoid and cautious the entire time, and while everyone seemed to be in a hurry, that was the way it had been the previous summer, and not a murmur about the disappearances of all the students that were a part of the Resistance had been breathed, let alone in the _Daily Prophet_ Hope swiped.

But it felt like a storm brewing.

Sirius' words to Hope before her fifth year echoed in her ears.

" _Do you really think there's going to be a war, Sirius?"_

" _It…feels like it did last time."_

Hope breathed out sharply, her fingers tingling, before taking Hermione's hand as she apparated them away to load up on non-perishable food, just in case, before high-tailing to the hotel to sort through their combined stuff.

And that was how Ron found them a few hours later, not even knocking as he opened the door. He cleared his throat as he stepped into the hotel room, keenly aware of the one wand and one outstretched hand aimed at him (Hope was always a better shot with her blood magic). "So, how's everything been going?"

Hermione lowered her wand with a smile while Hope attempted to look as though she'd been messing with her hair but couldn't quite make it work.

He could see gold, silver, and bronze separated from what he knew to be Muggle pounds on the table, just like they said. It looked like a lot of money and another day, _another time_ that would've annoyed him, but he knew that Hope would've traded all the money in the world for even a moment with her parents once more.

"What's all this?" he asked, leaning down to kiss Hermione's cheek, making her smile faintly.

She was surrounded by a number of strange cans with pictures and words on them. "Food, non-perishables seemed like the best option. It seemed like a good idea to have something rather than nothing…it probably won't be enough to last all of us when we finally get to Pithos -and we've still got to check it out- but it won't take us months to get there, so we should be set."

"And Pithos might be headquarters but we're not _all_ gonna be staying there," Hope added without looking up from the book she was inspecting, "we'll all split off once we give them their names and partners and specializations."

That development had been fairly recent, but Hope was enforcing the buddy system, given how things seemed to go sideways whenever anyone went off on their own –Katie, Ginny, Daphne, Astoria. She had all the partners picked out…except _for her._ They were an odd number, leaving Hope on her own, but Hope figured she was pliable enough to work with different pairs whenever she needed to.

Ron arched an eyebrow, lifting one of the cans with interest before snorting as Hermione waved her wand to send the vast array of cans of supposed food into one of the two beaded bags, which gave no indication of what lay within it. The undetectable extension charm did its work. And then she started in on the large pile of books.

"You were saying something about books," Hope mentioned from the opposite bed, pausing to drink the cup of juice beside her. "Horcrux books, but I didn't think there _were_ any."

"Well, er, there weren't any in the library," Hermione admitted, pink suffusing across her face. "Dumbledore removed them all, but he-he didn't destroy them."

Ron took the time to goggle at his girlfriend as if he had never seen her clearly. "How in the name of Merlin's pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?"

"I, well—" Hermione appeared rather flustered. "Dumbledore must have taken them off the shelf after Riddle read them, but he didn't destroy them, so I just did the Summoning Charm on them after the funeral and they zoomed out of Dumbledore's study window right into the girls' dormitory."

"Is that why you took so long coming down to the common room?" Hope asked.

Hermione nodded her head.

"It just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be... and I was alone in there... so I tried, and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I packed them," she admitted, "I can't believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it's not as though we're going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?"

"Hermione," Ron snorted, "do we look like we're judging you?"

Hope sniggered into her cup of juice. "So, what did you find?"

Hermione stood to pull a book she had hidden under her bed, touching it as little as possible. It was thick and bound with black leather.

" _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ ," Hope read out the faded title. She handled it easily without as much disdain as Hermione, but she'd always been more interested in topics that others considered dark and unspeakable.

"It's a _horrible_ book," Hermione said with a look of displeasure, "really _awful_ , full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library…if he didn't do it until he was headmaster, I bet Riddle got all the instruction he needed from here, since it gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux."

"Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he'd already read that?" Ron asked, eyeing the book warily.

"That was about what would happen if you split your soul seven ways," Hope corrected.

"If you do all that, you know, split your soul and hide the piece an object…can you even put yourself back together?" Ron asked.

Hope shrugged. "I dunno."

"You can, _actually."_ Hope wasn't even surprised to discover that Hermione had the answer. "But it would be excruciatingly painful."

"How so?" Hope asked, a frown marring her forehead.

"You've got to really _feel_ what you've done. There's a footnote. Apparently, the pain of it can destroy you. I can't see Riddle attempting it somehow, can you?"

"No," Hope and Ron said at once.

"But how do you destroy them?" Ron added. "It's not like we should just go around carrying bits of Voldemort's soul with us."

"Has the book got anything about that?" Hope asked hopefully. That would certainly make it easier.

"Yes," Hermione said with a grimace, "because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I've read, what Hope did to Riddle's diary was one of the few really fool proof ways of destroying a Horcrux."

"A basilisk fang can destroy a Horcrux, but is it the only thing that can?" Hope asked, snagging the biscuit Ron was trying to steal from next to her juice.

"Oh, no," Hermione said, screwing up her face in thought. "But it does have to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can't repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it's incredibly rare—"

"Phoenix tears," Ron agreed. He had been holding Hope when the Fawkes had cried onto her wound, thinking, rightly so, that she was dying.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they're all dangerous to carry around with you. That's a problem we're going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won't do the trick. You've got to put it _beyond magical repair."_

"And you're saying once we do that, we destroy that bit of soul?" Hope asked.

"Quite effectively," Hermione agreed.

Ron checked his watch. "Guys, I've only got another forty-five minutes until Dad wants me back…"

"Right," Hermione agreed, "we should get to sorting…I'm thinking _no_ to _Defensive Magical Theory_."

Hope scowled at the book. "The real question is why didn't you throw that out before sixth year?"

"I can't throw away books!" Hermione sounded horrified as Ron howled with laughter.

Hope shook her head, turning back to the books in her pile, returning to an earlier conversation. "Anyways, as I was saying _before,_ we should be sticking to more Muggle stuff, I think. We'll be harder to track, traveling by Muggle means and using Muggle technology."

Ron had to agree with her there, there was little chance of Riddle doing the same if he had the opportunity, given how much he hated Muggle-borns, using Muggle technology was a no. There were a series of names in each contact list, but no one knew their codenames yet, so they didn't know which member of the Resistance correlated with which name, which was honestly a safer option for the Resistance. The less members you knew, the less you could rat on.

He picked up a round item with a tag in Fred's handwriting that said: _Explosive! Throw and run!_

"Ron?" Hope's brow wrinkled. "Are you okay?" Both she and Hermione were looking at him in concern.

"Sorry," Ron said quickly, "I just, I don't know, I feel like it just kinda _hit_ me…we're really doing this, there's _really_ going to be a war."

Hope's lips thinned, her expression a serious slate while Hermione bit her lip. "War's been going on for as long as we've been alive, Ron, its only picking up traction now."

"And you're not afraid?" Ron asked archly. "Of dying or anything?"

"It's not dying that's the _problem_ , I've died before, it's not so bad…it's what you leave behind." Hope thought about her parents and Sirius. "I don't mind dying, but I'd rather not." Her thoughts lingered on Padma and Parvati.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "You're impossible."

Hope flashed her a smile, all bared teeth. "But, sometimes you're in need of a _little death."_

And Hermione grimaced, remembering Hope shouting on her mobile earlier.

("It's _my_ life, and _my_ magic, and _my_ body!" she'd raged. "You don't get a say in what I do with _any of them!"_ )

"Still doing that whole 'faking your death' thing?" Ron asked, not necessarily moving off of the subject, just slightly to the left.

Hope picked up a jug next to her full of dirt. "Doll ready and waiting," she said. "Hermione doesn't want to kill it."

Hermione huffed. "That's like being okay with killing my best mate, _no thanks."_

Hope rolled her eyes. "I'll kill me, then, it'll be _cathartic."_

Hermione's expression was horrified but Hope turned her attention to Ron. "How's George?"

"Had Fred apparate him away from the Burrow almost as soon as he woke up," Ron informed her, taking the books she gave him, putting them in the pile she directed. "He was stumbling a little, but Angie's saying the ear is where balance is, so once he gets used to it, he should be okay. He says he's the hotter twin, 'just ask the Girl-Who-Lived'."

Hope couldn't help but laugh.

"Fred was like 'I'm pretty sure she thinks I'm hotter, actually', and it only went downhill from there," Ron shook his head fondly. "My brothers are _morons."_

"That happens," Hope sniggered. "How do you feel about taking Ginny and clearing out Grimmauld Place?"

"I thought you wanted to do that?" Ron's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I think we've got enough eyes on us," Hope threw a glance towards Hermione, who nodded seriously. "And Ginny'll go _mad_ cooped up in that house with your mum."

Well, she wasn't wrong there.

"And when you're done, trick it up with every explosive you can think of," Hope added, her grin demonic. "Ginny'll like that."

She had to, given the Irishman she was dating that liked to set fire to absolutely anything he touched. Ron bobbed his head in agreement.

"You two gonna be all right?" His eyes lingered on Hope's throat, which was healing slowly, only because she wasn't using any magic on it.

Hope waved him off and Hermione stood quickly to kiss him soundly. "We'll be all right," she promised. "Let us know if you find anything interesting, yeah?"

Ron tipped an imaginary hat before saluting Hope, which she waved off.

"Aren't the Order watching Grimmauld Place?" Hermione asked once he'd gone.

"Yeah, but they'd never make it through the front door," Hope snorted. "Which I'm sure pisses off Moody to _no end."_

Hermione gave her an exasperated look while she cackled.

* * *

 **AN: A few tweaks here and there, but in a few chapters we'll really get fully into the changes. Mirror Lady is very important and I'm looking forward to her official meeting with Hope.**

 **As always: please review!**


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